In all this time Judith dwelt with us by the Lost Soul. When my
uncle fetched her from Whisper Cove, he gravely gave her into the care
of our maid-servant, long ago widowed by the sea, who had gone
childless all her life, and was now come to the desolate years, when
she would sit alone and wistful at twilight, staring out into the
empty world, where only hopelessly deepening shadows were, until
'twas long past time to light the lamp. In the child that was I she
had found no ease or recompense, because of the mystery concerning me,
which in its implication of wickedness revolted her, and because of
my uncle's regulation of her demeanor in my presence, which tolerated
no affectionate display; but when Judith came, orphaned and
ill-nourished, the woman sat no longer in moods at evening, but busied
herself in motherly service of the child, reawakened in the
spirit. 'Twas thus to a watchful, willing guardianship, most
tenderly maternal in solicitude and self-sacrifice, that Judith
was brought by wise old Nick Top of Twist Tickle.
My uncle would have no misunderstanding.
"Uncle Nick," says I, "you'll be havin' a chair set for Judy in the
cabin?"
"No, lad," he answered; "not for little Judy."