“Did he see the pretty white ship, then?” said the nurse, holding him up in the sunshine. “The beautiful white ship.” No one took any notice. The colonel was reading his _Times_, the chief link between the exile and civilization. Isola was intent upon knitting a soft white vestment for her firstborn. Two hours later the garden gate gave a little click, and Captain Hulbert walked in. Allegra heard the click of the latch as she sat in the verandah, and ran out to meet him. She had been watching and expectant all the time, though she had held her peace about the vision of white sails, lest she should be suspected of hoping for her lover’s coming, and, above all, lest she should be compassionated with later in the day, if the ship were not the _Vendetta_. Yes, it was he. She turned pale with delight at the realization of her hope. She had hardly known till this instant how much she loved him. She let him take her in his arms and kiss her, just as if he had been the commonest sailor whose “heart was true to Poll.” “Are you really glad to see me, darling?” he whispered, overcome by the delight of this fond welcome. “Really glad. I feel as if we had been parted for years. No letter to tell me where you were or what you were doing! I began to doubt if you ever cared for me.” “Heartless infidel, you told me not to write; and so I thought the only alternative was to come. And I have been coming for the last five weeks. We had a stiffish time across the bay--nothing to trust to but canvas; and I had to waste a week at Toulon while my ship was under repairs. However, here I am, and the _Vendetta_ is safe and sound; and I am your most obedient slave. How is Mrs. Disney?” “Not quite so well as she was two or three weeks ago. She improved wonderfully at first, but she caught cold one bleak, blowy day, and she has started a little nervous kind of cough, which makes us anxious about her.” “Better spirits, I hope. Not quite so mopy?” “Her spirits have revived wonderfully. This lovely land has given her a new life. But there are times when she droops a little. She is curiously sensitive--too impressionable for happiness. We have a very fine preacher here--Father Rodwell; you must have heard him.” “Yes, I heard of him at Oxford. He was before my time by some years; but he was a celebrity, and I heard men talk of him. Well, what of your preacher? Has he fallen in love with my Allegra--is he in the same boat as poor Colfox?”