angely, awakening an emotion of almost
painful tenderness, as at sight of decorations pathetically fond,
playfully child-like and ingenuous. While, as he bent over her, she also
became aware of a freshness, a salt sweetness as of the ocean and the
great vacant spaces where all the winds of the world blow keen and free.

"Sir Charles wrote to me," Faircloth said a little huskily. "He told me I
might come and see you again and talk to you, and bid you good-bye before
I go to sea. And I should have been here sooner, but that I was away at
Southampton Docks, and the letter only reached me this morning. I
telegraphed and started on at once. And he--Sir Charles--walked out over
the warren to meet me, and brought me up here right to the door. And on
the way we talked a little,--if he chose he could make the very stones
speak, I think--and he said one or two things for which--I--well--I thank
first Almighty God, and next to God, you--Damaris"--

This last imperatively.

"You did ask for me? You did wish to have me come to you?"

"Yes, I did wish it," she answered. "But I never knew how much until now,
when he has brought you. For that is the right, the beautiful, safe way
of having you come to me and to this house."

Yet, as she spoke, she lightly laid her hand over the tattooed image of
the flying sea-bird, concealing it, for it moved her to the point of
active suffering in its quaint prettiness fixed thus indelibly up in the
warm live flesh.

At the touch of her hand Faircloth drew in his breath sharply, seeming to
wince. Then, at last, Damaris looked up at him, her eyes full of
questioning and startled concern.

"I didn't hurt you?" she asked, a vague idea of suffering, attached to
that fanciful stigmata, troubling her.

"Hurt me--good Lord, how could you, of all people, hurt me?" he gently
laughed at her. "Unless you turned me down, gave me to understand that,
on second thoughts, you didn't find me up to your requirements or some
mean class devilry of that kind--of which, by the way, had I judged you
capable, you may be sure I should have been uncommonly careful never to
come near you again.--No, it isn't that you hurt me; but that you delight
me a little overmuch, so that it isn't easy to keep quite level-headed.
There's so much to hear and to tell, and such scanty time to hear or tell
it in, worse luck."

"You are obliged to go so soon?"

The flames of jealousy had effectually, it may be noted, died down
in Da