I recall the strange, unearthly aspect of the scenes enacted in the Ark
at that early hour, the fleeting vision of a morning repast which formed
some accidental part in the chaos of vaster proceedings.
Then, when the first faint signs of dawn were beginning to break through
the gray in the eastern sky, I bade farewell to the Ark forever,
lingering a moment on the old familiar doorstep for a last word with
those of the neighbors who had gathered there to see us off, for the
whole Keeler family accompanied me to the station.
There were others waiting at the gate to say good-bye, and at various
posts all the way down the lane. At the big white house, Emily came
running out, breathless. She whispered hurriedly in my ear; "There was a
message left. Ye wasn't well. I reckon 'twas a message. When fisherman
and that other one came up from the shore, day o' the storm, he came to
our house for Sim to take him to Wallen. He said it was better to be the
dead one than him. He was awful white, and Sim got harnessed, and just as
fisherman was goin' out, he left a message along o' me, though there
wasn't no names mentioned, and he talked queer; but he wanted as somebody
should know that he realized it all now, and he couldn't make up for it,
never; but it was go'n' to be new or nothin' for him, and they shouldn't
want for nothin', never, and kep' a sayin' more, and no message, exactly,
as ye could call a message, but I reckoned--I thought--may be--"
Emily's glowing eyes, fixed on my face, grew very wide and grave.
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