“Save your breath!” Nathaniel said. “I gave you my word I’d go with you, and so I will; but I didn’t give my word to stop having my own thoughts! I didn’t give my word to think the way Wynkoop thinks, or De Woedtke thinks, or the way you think, for that matter. I’ll think as I wish, and you can’t stop me! I’ll think as my conscience dictates, just as you do, and you’ll do well to remember you’re not the only person with a conscience! Don’t you try to tell me how I must think! Wiser men than you have thought as I do! Let me alone, and I’ll keep my thoughts to myself, because of what I promised. But keep your hands and tongue off me; and what’s more, keep your slanders off Marie! Otherwise I’ll do what you’re doing: I’ll follow the dictates of my conscience! I’ll do what I think ought to be done, instead of what a lot of rats tell me I ought to do!”

I sat and stared at him. I could do nothing but stare, for his words had stripped me of all coherent speech. For a moment Nathaniel returned my stare: then he climbed off the boulder and went splashing toward shore.

As I followed him to the shipyard, the intensity of my thoughts was such that I slipped and stumbled as I walked.

What to do about Marie de Sabrevois was the question that engrossed me. I longed to speak with someone about her; yet I knew Cap Huff might somehow have been mistaken about her name. It was even possible that there might be two Marie de Sabrevoises. After all, there was a settlement of that name, not far from St. John’s. And of course, I told myself, it was possible that Ellen was right about her aunt’s goodness: that Nathaniel was right about her purity and nobility. It was certain I could not talk about her to Nathaniel or to Ellen. It was equally certain that for their sakes I dared not speak about her to anyone else. Nor, I said to myself, could I prove what I knew about Marie de Sabrevois; but know it I did; and dodge and squirm as I might, there was no escaping it.

XXVIII

GIVE a man enough work to do and he forgets his sorrows. He ceases, even, to complain about his food, for if he works long enough and hard enough, any food becomes savory, just as any bed feels soft and welcome.