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Updated: June 18, 2025
"Miss Orr's motive for thus benefiting a wretched community, well-nigh ruined years ago by the villainy of one man, should be held sacred from criticism," he said, with heat. "Well, let me tell you the girl had a motive or thought she had," said the stranger unpleasantly. "But she had no right to spend her money that way.
The looking-glass that hung over the table in one corner of the room was fancifully webbed with long, drooping festoons of that gray moss which hangs in such graceful wreaths from the boughs of the pines in the deep forest shadows of Orr's Island.
By a table at the sea-looking window sits our little Mara, now grown to the maturity of eighteen summers, but retaining still unmistakable signs of identity with the little golden-haired, dreamy, excitable, fanciful "Pearl" of Orr's Island. She is not quite of a middle height, with something beautiful and child-like about the moulding of her delicate form.
He turned his eyes from the road to stare at her for an instant. "Did he tell you his name was Orr?" he asked sharply. It was Ellen's turn to stare. "Why, if he is Miss Orr's father " she began. "Oh, of course," said Jim hurriedly. "I was just wondering if he had introduced himself." Ellen was silent. She was convinced that there was some mystery about the pale old man.
That it was all of it as much authentic fact as the Roman history, she did not doubt, but whether it had happened on Orr's Island or some of the neighboring ones, she had not exactly made up her mind. She resolved at her earliest leisure to consult Captain Kittridge on the subject, wisely considering that it much resembled some of his fishy and aquatic experiences.
I don't want to be rambling round the world after riches. We'll have a little farm down on Orr's Island, and I'll have a little fishing-smack, and we'll live and be happy together." And so Mary, who in those days was a pretty young married woman, felt herself rich and happy, no duchess richer or happier. The two contentedly delved and toiled, and the little Naomi was their princess.
Hope pointed to Farranshane, where William Orr's house was burning a witness to a malignity so bitter that it wreaked the vengeance from which the dead man was safe on his widow and his orphans. Neal told his story, and spoke of the passionate desire for revenge which burned in him. Hope listened patiently to every word. Then he spoke.
And so they passed the windowed fronts of the village houses, peering out from the dripping autumnal foliage like so many watchful eyes, till the hoarse signal of a motor car halted them, as they were about to cross the street in front of the Brookville House. From the open door of the car Lydia Orr's pale face looked out. "Oh, father," she said. "I've been looking for you everywhere!"
Spring had already come, loosing the chains of ice in all the bays and coves round Harpswell, Orr's Island, Maquoit, and Middle Bay.
The wreckage which may follow a single unthought crudity, in a home otherwise exceptional, is signally illustrated in the life of Mrs. Orr's only child, Hortense, born two years after their marriage. From the first she was sensitive and high-strung, nervously damaged probably in her early years by her mother's restless, unwise overcare.
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