To tell all that befell me ere I set foot in England once more were scarce less tedious to the reader than it was to me in the happening, who counted each day for lost until I had got home; which was upon Christmas Eve; and should prosecute my search for Idonia Avenon. But so strangely into peace did all my affairs seem to move, after my uncle's death (as though upon his removal who had every way troubled us so long, we were come into an unknown liberty and fulfilment of our hopes), that my search was ended as soon almost as begun, and Idonia restored to me within an hour of my landing at Wapping Stairs. 'Twas the simplest cause that led me to her, as it was the simplest act of mere gratitude that I should go at once to the kindly folk on the Bridge, I mean Gregory Nelson and his wife, to requite them for all they had done for me and to excuse myself in having gone away from them so without warning as I did; which must at that time have appeared very graceless in me and unhandsome. And being thus come to their house, as I say, who should be in the doorway, as if expressly to greet me (although she had heard nought of the arrival of the _Happy Adventure_), but Idonia herself, sweet lass! and blithe as a carol burden. 'Twas some while ere we got to relating our histories, but when Idonia did at length relate her own, I learnt how Nelson's brother, the yeoman, had found her that dreadful night, lurking about the precincts of the _Fair Haven_ Inn, nigh distraught with weeping and the terror of loneliness. He had questioned her straitly of her purpose in being there, to whom she presently confessed she sought me, and told him where I was used to lodge, which was in this house upon London Bridge. And no sooner did the yeoman apprehend the matter, than he got permission of his captain to leave watching of the Inn, and so carried her home to his brother's wife, who tenderly cared for her, until I should return. "As indeed I never doubted of your doing," said Idonia, her eyes shining for very pride of this ineffable thing we had entered into possession of; "though you have been gone a weary great while, dear heart, and no tidings have I had to comfort me." "Ay, and mickle tidings you needed, housewife!" interposed the scolding voice of Madam Nelson, that (good soul) had no notion to leave us two by ourselves, but burst into whatever room we were in, upon the most impertinent excuse, as of a mislaid thimble, or a paper of pins, or else a "Lord! be you here still?" or a "Tell me, Denis, how do the ladies of Barbary wear their hair?" until I swear I was ready to pitch her out of the window for a second, but more virtuous, Jezebel.