"Over the rim of the moor, And under a starry sky, Two men came to my door And rested them wearily. Beneath the bough and the star In a whispering foreign tongue, They talked of a land afar, And the merry days so young." She sang it as though to herself, or as though answering the murmur of the tide on the rocks at their feet; but at the third verse her voice lifted: "Beneath the dawn and the bough I heard them arise and go-- But my heart, it is aching--aching now, For the more it will never know." The song died away in a low wistful minor, as though it breathed its last upon a question. "The merry days--the merry days, so young," she echoed, after a pause, and lifted her head suddenly. "Hark!" The sound--it was the plash of oar--grew upon the darkness. A light shot out beyond the last point of Brefar, and its ray fell waving on the black water. It came from a lantern in the bows of the Tregarthen's boat, and as it drew nearer the two listeners could distinguish the children's voices. They shrank back there in the shadow above the ledge, as the boat took ground and Eli Tregarthen, stepping ashore in his sea-boots, set the lantern on the stones of the beach, lifted out the children, and lent a hand to Ruth. The little ones scampered up the path; but Ruth waited by her husband while he heaved the boat high and dry with his easy, careless strength, and saw to her moorings. When all was done, and as he stooped to pick up the lantern, she came to him, and put a hand on his arm. So, and without speech, they went up the path together. The rays of the lantern danced on the furze-bushes to right and left of the path.... Vashti leapt to her feet; her hands went up to her lips and hollowed themselves to a low call. "Lul--lul--loo--ee!" From the brake above came a little cry, a little gasping cry; and gruffly upon it Eli Tregarthen's voice challenged-- "Who goes there?" "Caa-ra! caa-ra!... Oh, Ruth--my sister!" The Commandant saw Tregarthen's lantern lifted above the gorse, and by the light of it Ruth came down to the narrow pathway--came with the face of a ghost, as Vashti sprang up the slope towards her. "Vassy! Not Vassy!-----" But Vashti's arms were about her for proof. The Commandant, standing below in the shadow of the brake, heard the younger sister's sobs. "Vassy! And to-night!" "To-night, and for many nights-----" "Thank God! Thank God!" The Commandant, by the light of the lantern which Eli Tregarthen held stupidly, saw them go up the path, their arms holding each other's waist. They disappeared, but their questions and eager, broken answers, as they climbed towards Saaron, came down to him where he stood alone, forgotten. He stood there for half an hour almost. Then, as he felt the chill of the night he recalled himself to action with a shiver, and shouldered Vashti's valise. Slowly he climbed the hill with it, to Saaron Farm, and rapped on the door.