"And now, father," he said, in conclusion, "will you do me a last favor, and let the people know what has happened. I go among them as deacon, no longer as primate, and, I hope, no longer as a miser or a sour man. The little one and I have talked long together, and indeed I think I have been made different to what I was." So Father Nikola became Nikola again, and the loss of dignity was gain in all else to him. He and Martha were seldom seen apart, and the island generally, partly because its folk were warm-hearted and ready to forgive, partly because the strange little old-age idyl pleased them, smiled on the two. Nikola's two ships still remained all August in the harbor, and it was matter for conjecture whether, when the time came for them to take the sea again, Martha would go with him, or whether Nikola would give up his part in the war. And the two talked of it together. "It would be selfish if I tried to keep you here, Nikola," said his wife, "for since I have been in the house of the Turk it has seemed to me that all men have a duty laid on them, and that to root out the whole devil's brood." "I care no longer, little one," he said, "for have I not got you back?" Martha got up and began walking up and down the veranda. "It is good to hear you speak so," she said, "and yet it is not good. There are other wives besides me; other husbands also besides you, Nikola. So do not draw back; it is for me only you draw back. Go! I would have you go!" She looked at him with shining eyes, her heart all woman, and the noblest of woman--strong, unflinching. He looked at her and hesitated. "How can I leave you?" he said. "I cannot start off again." "Leave me?" she asked. "What talk is this of leaving me?" "But you would have me go." "But will I not be with you? Does not your Capsina sail on her ship, and why not I on my husband's?" "No, no!" he cried, stung out of self. "That were still worse. If I went my comfort would be that you were here safe; that, if I came back, I should still find you here.. Let it suffice then. I go, but alone." Again she smiled. "Let it suffice, Nikola," she said; "you go not alone." He looked up at her with his peering eyes. "You are greater than ever, little one," he said, "and I find you more beautiful than ever." She bent down, kissed him lightly on the forehead, and sat by him, while he stretched his hand out to hers and stroked it. "Would not the boys and girls laugh to see us?" he said. "For, indeed, though I am old, I think you still like to have the touch of me. I am absurd." "God bless their laughter," said she, "for, indeed, no ill thing yet came from laughter." Then, after a pause, "And are we not enviable? Are we not content? Indeed I am content, Nikola, and content comes once or twice in a lifetime, and to the most of men never. It is the autumn of our age, and the days are warm and calm, and no storm vexes us." "And I am content," said Nikola.