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“Maybe. He never went to school. The harbour school was too far away. I taught him to read and write and bought him all the books I could afford. But I can’t do any more for him.”

“But I can,” said Miss Trevor, “and I want to. Will you give Paul to me, Mr. Kane? I love him dearly and he shall have every advantage. I’m rich–I can do a great deal for him.”

Stephen continued to gaze out to sea with an expressionless face. Finally he said: “I’ve been expecting to hear you say something of the sort. I don’t know. If you took Paul away, he’d grow to be a cleverer man and a richer man maybe, but would he be any better–or happier? He’s his mother’s son–he loves the sea and its ways. There’s nothing of his father in him except his hankering after books. But I won’t choose for him–he can go if he likes–he can go if he likes.”

In the end Paul “liked,” since Stephen refused to influence him by so much as a word. Paul thought Stephen didn’t seem to care much whether he went or stayed, and he was dazzled by Miss Trevor’s charm and the lure of books and knowledge she held out to him.

“I’ll go, I guess,” he said, with a long sigh.

Miss Trevor clasped him close to her and kissed him maternally. Paul kissed her cheek shyly in return. He thought it very wonderful that he was to live with her always. He felt happy and excited–so happy and excited that the parting when it came slipped over him lightly. Miss Trevor even thought he took it too easily and had a vague wish that he had shown more sorrow. Stephen said farewell to the boy he loved better than life with no visible emotion.

“Good-bye, Paul. Be a good boy and learn all you can.” He hesitated a moment and then said slowly, “If you don’t like it, come back.”

“Did you bid good-bye to your rock people?” Miss Trevor asked him with a smile as they drove away.

“No. I–couldn’t–I–I–didn’t even tell them I was going away. Nora would break her heart. I’d rather not talk of them anymore, if you please. Maybe I won’t want them when I’ve plenty of books and lots of other boys and girls–real ones–to play with.”

They drove the ten miles to the town where they were to take the train the next day. Paul enjoyed the drive and the sights of the busy streets at its end. He was all excitement and animation. After they had had tea at the house of the friend where Miss Trevor meant to spend the night, they went for a walk in the park. Paul was tired and very quiet when they came back. He was put away to sleep in a bedroom whose splendours frightened him, and left alone.

At first Paul lay very still on his luxurious perfumed pillows. It was the first night he had ever spent away from the little seaward-looking loft where he could touch the rafters with his hands. He thought of it now and a lump came into his throat and a strange, new, bitter longing came into his heart. He missed the sea plashing on the rocks below him–he could not sleep without that old lullaby. He turned his face into the pillow, and the longing and loneliness grew worse and hurt him until he moaned. Oh, he wanted to be back home! Surely he had not left it–he could never have meant to leave it. Out there the stars would be shining over the harbour. Stephen would be sitting at the door, all alone, with his violin. But he would not be playing it–all at once Paul knew he would not be playing it. He would be sitting there with his head bowed and the loneliness in his heart calling to the loneliness in Paul’s heart over all the miles between them. Oh, he could never have really meant to leave Stephen.