The widow, although not an official assistant to the missionary, was
nevertheless a most efficient one. She taught in his schools, being
familiar with the native tongue; and, when the settlement grew in
numbers, both of white and black, she became known as the good angel of
the place,--the one who was ever ready with sympathy for the sorrowful,
and comfort for the dying. She was fair and fragile, and had been
exceedingly beautiful; but care had stamped his mark deeply in her brow.
Neither care nor time, however, could mar the noble outline of her fine
features, or equal the love that beamed in her gentle eyes.

The widow was a great mystery to the gossips of Sandy Cove; for there
are gossips even in the most distant isles of the sea. Some men (we
refer, of course, to white men) thought that she must have been the wife
of an admiral at least, and had fallen into distressed circumstances,
and gone to these islands to hide her poverty. Others said she was a
female Jesuit in disguise, sent there to counteract the preaching of the
gospel by the missionary. A few even ventured to hint their opinion that
she was an outlaw, "or something of that sort," and shrewdly suspected
that Mr. Mason knew more about her than he was pleased to tell. But no
one, either by word or look, had ever ventured to express an opinion of
any kind to herself, or in the hearing of her son. The latter, indeed,
displayed such uncommon breadth of shoulders, and such unusual
development of muscle, that it was seldom necessary for him--even in
those savage regions and wild times--to display anything else in order
to make men respectful.

While our three friends were doing justice to the bacon and breadfruit
set before them by Widow Stuart, the widow herself was endeavoring to
repress some strong feeling, which caused her breast to heave more than