artin."

"Wait!" says I, "Wait!" And hasting out, I brought her the grapes I
had saved, telling her that though small she would find them sweet and
wholesome.

"Why, Martin!" says she, under her breath as one greatly surprised,
"Why, Martin!" and so vanishes into her little cave forthwith, and
never a word of thanks.

Now being yet haunted by my dreams of yesternight, I went forth into
the moonlight and walked there awhile, my eyes uplifted to the glory of
the heavens; and now I must needs bethink me of Godby's star-time, of
the dark, lonely road, of the beckoning light beyond and the welcoming
arms of love. And hereupon I scowled and turned to stare away across
the placid sea dimpling 'neath the moon, at the stilly waters of the
lagoon, and the white curve of Deliverance Beach below; but, look where
I would, I could see only the proud, lovely face and the great,
truthful eyes of this woman Joan Brandon, even when my scowling brows
were bent on that distant pimento tree beneath whose towering shadow
Black Bartlemy had laughed his life out. So in a while I came within
the cave and found it dim, for the moonbeam was there no longer, and
cast myself upon my bed, very full of gloomy thoughts.

"Martin, I thank you for your grapes. To-morrow we will gather more!"

"Aye, to-morrow!"

"I found a shirt of chain-work by the pool, Martin--"

"'Tis mine."

"I have set it by against your need."

"Nay, I'm done with it, here is no fear of knives in the back."

"Are you sleepy, Martin?"

"No, but 'tis plaguy dark."

"But you are there," says she, "so I do not fear the dark."

"To-morrow I will make a lamp." Here she fell silent and I think to
sleep, but as for me I lay long, oppressed by my thoughts. "Aye,
verily," says I at last, speaking my thought aloud as had become my
custom in my solitude, "to-morrow I will contrive a lamp, for light is
a goodly thing." Now here I heard a rustle from the inner cave as she
had turned in her sleep, for she spake no word; and so, despite my
thoughts, I too presently fell to blessed slumber.

Now if there be any who, reading this my narrative, shall think me too
diffuse and particular in the chapters to follow, I do hereby humbly
crave their pardon, but (maugre my reader's weariness) shall not abate
one word or sentence, since herein I (that by my own folly have known
so little of happiness) do record some of the happiest hours that ever
man knew, so that it is joy again to