The last words came in faltering tones that utterly belied their meaning, while from the distance the flute’s music ended in that wild wail which now, more than ever, denoted a _finale_. In a few minutes Gyll joined Marlowe on the shore. “Ah, you have come,” he said, rising. She laughed. “So it seems; but wherefore, Kyt, did you so mysteriously arrange this meeting?” He made an impatient gesture. “Wilt swear to say nothing of my tidings to any in the town?” “Yea, if it pleases your poetic soul thus to weave mysteries, I make no remonstrance.” He scrutinized her silently until, at last, being satisfied, he spoke again. “I leave for England, Gyll, this very day.” Her eyes opened wide, and she stared at him as at one demented. “Leave for England, Kyt! Thou’rt mad!” “Nay,” he returned, calmly. “Listen. For I know not how many days and months I have scanned the sea far to the northward. For an eternity I have seen naught save gulls and waves, but at last a sail hath come, as I knew it would. Nor is it surprising that I waited expectantly, for while in England I had heard that every year as many as five hundred ships found their way to the great country which Martin Frobisher explored. ’Tis called Newfoundland, and off its banks myriads of fish are caught by the men of Brittany, Normandy, and nearly all the provinces of France. Was it not likely, therefore, that one of these fishing-vessels, returning with its catch, should follow the coast of this continent until it came to southern waters? Well, likely or not, the thing hath happened. A Breton shallop lies to the north and awaits me, for I builded a fire and signalled to it. Three mariners came ashore, and, to one who understood the French language, I explained that I was a castaway. Thus they think me a shipwrecked sailor, and I have allayed their curiosity. Otherwise, no doubt, they would have come prying about Croatan. These men have promised to land me on the coast of France or Ireland.” He paused, seeming to question her with a look, but for answer she only threw an arm about his neck. “Oh, Kyt, art really going? I cannot believe ’tis true.” “Ay, ’tis very truth.” She looked up into his dark eyes with a troubled expression. “Tell me, dreamer, why do you depart so secretly, and why, indeed, at all?” “Secretly,” he answered, with renewed vagueness, “because in secret Destiny works; I for to-day am Fate, and keep these colonists to their duty as Vytal and Mistress Dare have done. Were they to know of the vessel’s proximity, they would in a moment be havoc-struck. Ananias would start an insurrection and incite them to seize the shallop. This must not be. I go alone, or with—” She interrupted him. “Why, why do you go?”