it's just as well nobody knows about your bein' shut up in that study.
Not but what 'twas all right, you know, but--"

"I understand. I'm not proud of it. Still, some one may have seen me
come here."

"No, no, they didn't. This fog is as thick as Injun-meal puddin'. Nobody
saw you."

"Well," with some hesitation, "the young lady who was here with you--"

"Oh, Grace Van Horne! She's all right. She won't tell. She ain't that
kind."

"Van Horne? That doesn't sound like a New England name."

"'Tisn't. Her folks come from Jersey somewheres. But she was adopted
by old Cap'n Hammond, who keeps the tavern down on the bay shore by the
packet wharf, and she's lived in Trumet since she was six years old. Her
father was Teunis Van Horne, and he was mate on Cap'n Eben's coastin'
schooner and was drowned off Hatteras. Eben was saved just by the skin
of his teeth and got a broken hip and religion while it happened. His
hip's better except that he's some lame; but his religion's been more
and more feverish ever since. He's one of the head Come-Outers, and
built their chapel with his own money. You mustn't think I'm speakin'
lightly of religion, nor of Cap'n Eben, either. He's a dear good soul as
ever was, but he is the narrowest kind of Come-Outer. His creed is
just about as wide as the chapel door, and that's as narrow as the way
leadin' to salvation; it IS the way, too, so the Come-Outers think."