Gradually the explanation came. Marius had found the British sailor on the quay at Marseilles (where he had been staying with his friend the Presbyter Salvian). The poor Briton was vainly endeavouring to make himself understood, and Marius took compassion on him; something in the cadences of his voice made him think of Ethne and Baithene. After a time an Armorican Breton was found to interpret, and between them at last they came to understand that Dewi had just come from Ireland, and was now on his way to Rome, and was trying to find some vessel to take him to Ostia, the port of Rome. He had a message from an Irish prince or chieftain to his son and daughter, who had been captured by British pirates, and were supposed to have been taken in bondage to Rome. “When I understood this,” said Marius, turning to Baithene and Ethne, “I ventured to question him further, and soon I felt sure that his message was for you, so I took ship with him, and have brought him hither.” Damaris ordered refreshment to be brought, and left the stranger alone with Ethne and Baithene. When they were alone Dewi knelt again and kissed their hands, and could scarcely be induced to say or do anything but gaze on them rapturously, as on a priceless treasure unexpectedly recovered. But Ethne insisted that the wound on his ankle should be looked to at once, for the blood was flowing fast. Baithene unfastened his sandals. Fortunately the wound, though serious, was not very deep. “He remembered the place of his old bite,” said Dewi, with a grim smile, “and he nearly did it this time.” When the wound was washed and bandaged by Ethne’s gentle hands, Dewi was persuaded to sit down and partake of the food provided for him. The questions that could scarcely be asked at first in the tumult of fear and joy and welcome, came out one by one, and brought out the tidings and messages from home. The father and mother were well, Dewi said. But he spoke of them as grey-haired and old, and Baithene and Ethne could only think of them as in the prime and vigour of life. Could it be possible that grief for the loss of their children had thus aged them? “They welcomed me like a prince, like a brother,” Dewi said, “when I told them I came from you—I, who deserved so ill of them! The dog’s welcome was what I deserved!” he added in a choking voice. “You risked your life to serve us and them,” said Ethne; “and what welcome could be too warm and thankful for that?” Dewi acknowledged that he had run many risks, and had many toilsome journeys, but on these he would not dwell. He had seen Patrick also, the great Bishop Patrick. He had received his pardon and his blessing, and he had brought Patrick’s blessing for them, their father’s and mother’s blessing, and Patrick’s. “Did they say what they would have us do?” Baithene asked.