"From the wrecks?" ... and she glanced at him doubtfully with a little shiver. "It does not sound too nice." "We will bring them up. You will see them better here," and they spread the deck with Macro's latest importations. "Mon Dieu, mon Dieu!" murmured she, as she turned them over with curious fingers, and held them up to adjudge their style and make. "But they are things of the days before the flood! ... They are too amazing! ... They are wonderful beyond words!" "Could ye no alter them to your needs, mebbe?" suggested Macro hopefully. "Perhaps--with needle and thread and scissors. But have you these?" "Mebbe I can find 'em for ye. There's the cargoes of hunderds o' ships out there. Ye can find a'most anything if ye look long enough. And mebbe there's newer things if I can light on 'em." "And some shoes and stockings, think you? I would be very glad of them. It feels strange to go with bare feet." "I'll find 'em if there's any there." "It is very good of you. I thank you. Could I perhaps come too?" The idea evidently appealed strongly to him. He looked at her eagerly, and hesitated, but finally said, "It's no easy getting there. There's over six miles' walk through the sand, then near a mile of wading up to your neck in the water, and sometimes a bit of a swim, all according to the tide. Some day, mebbe, I'll mek a bit raft to tek ye across from the point there--just to see what it's like. But ye want these things and I'll get along quicker alone." "I thank you all the same. It will be for some other time then," and Macro let himself down on to his raft and paddled away to the spit. She stood watching him till he landed and set off at speed towards the point. "He is truly good-hearted," she said, as he disappeared. "He is not all English?" "He is from the islands off the west coast of Scotland, but he confesses to a strain of Spanish blood also." "And why confesses? It is not, I suppose, his own doing. One confesses to a fault. Is a strain of foreign blood a sin in your eyes then, Monsieur le Docteur?" she asked, with pointed emphasis. "By no means. I should have said he rejoices in it." "We English--British, I should say,"--with a fleeting gleam of a smile--"are too apt to look upon all foreigners as of lower breed than ourselves, which is quite a mistake and leads to much misunderstanding. Every nation has distinctive qualities of its own, is it not so?" "Undoubtedly. And unless one knows them by personal experience one should not pass judgment. I must confess to being nothing of a traveller." "How came you here?" she asked abruptly. "I was bound for America--or Canada, with the intention of settling out there. It looks now, according to the mate, as though this strip of sand has got to suffice us for the rest of our lives." "Really?" ... with a startled look. "Is there no getting away then? Does no one ever come here?"