"Stay a minute, David Borson. I want to speak to you. I had good news early this morning. My son's ship was met not so far away, and he may get home at any time, and me not thinking of it." "I am glad to hear it, Barbara. Then, also, you will want my room. I must look for a new place, and that is bad for me." "I was thinking of Nanna Sinclair," said Barbara, in a musing manner. "People do talk about you and her. I have heard say--" "'I have heard say' is half a lie," answered David. "I think that too; but Nanna's good name is to be thought of, and a man does not go every day to see a woman for nothing." Then David leaped to his feet with a face like a flame. "The shortest and best answer is doing the thing," he muttered; and he walked straight to Nanna's house, telling himself as he went, "I have been too long about it; I must speak now, and she must answer me." He was in his fishing-garb, for he intended going to sea with the tide then rising; but he thought no more of dressing for the interview than he thought of preparing his speeches. Hitherto he had in a manner drifted with the current of his great affection, never consciously asking himself where it was bearing him; but if people were talking about Nanna, then he must take away all occasion for suspicion--he must at once ask Nanna to be his wife. And as soon as he took the first step toward her he felt how close and dear she had become to him. He knew then that if Nanna was lost all the world would be nothing. She had grown into his life as the sea and the stars had grown, and he shrank from any thought that could imply separation. He walked with rapid steps across the moor, feeling dimly the beauty of the spring afternoon, with its haze of gold and purple on the horizon, where the gray clouds opened out in wistful stretches of daffodil skies. The door of Nanna's house stood open, and the wind, full of the sharp salt savor of the sea, blew life into the little room. Nanna was busy with her knitting, and the soft, lace-like shawl lay upon her knee. David shut the door and went to her side. His heart was too full to hesitate or to choose words; the simplest were the best. "Nanna, I have found out that I love you," he said. "Nanna, dearest woman, do you hear me?" Then her cheeks burned rosy, and she looked at David, and her hands trembled, and the work fell from them. "Love me a little, my dear! Love me, Nanna!" "I do love you, David. Who in all the world have I but you?" And the beautiful woman stood up, and he took her within his arms and kissed her. For a moment or two David was happy. His large, fair face shone; he laughed softly as he drew Nanna to his breast. He was really as intoxicated with joy as some men are with wine.