The determined-faced man had the inn’s best room and had it to himself. He welcomed into it Giles and Ellice Herne, but left the mate in the common room with the host and a command for what he pleased to drink. The mate spoke again. “I’m ordered, sir, not to let the shipwrecked people out of my sight.” “If you stay where you are you will see them still,” said the agent. “There is but one door to this room, and I leave it open.” The room had a sanded floor, a table, and benches. Outside the clouds were parting, and now a stormy sunlight broke through the window. The street began again to fill with people and their voices came confusedly into the room. A drawer brought wine. “I frequent this inn,” said the agent. “Moreover, by good luck, I find that a man whom I greatly desire to see is in London and sleeps here at the Hour-Glass. I await him now, and in the mean time lack entertainment.—I was glad to see you coming up the street.” He poured wine. “Here’s to the Eagle and freedom!—Has England changed to your eyes?” “Yes and no,” said Aderhold. Bow bells were ringing. The sunlight suddenly flooded the room. Without the door the mate’s rumbling voice was heard. “Two castaways—” “I have been gone a year,” said the agent. “The man that I am looking for is a coming man in England, and I expect to learn from him—” The agent and Aderhold were standing by the table, but Joan had seated herself where through the open casement she could see the clearing sky. The movement brought her into the shaft of light. It bathed, it etherealized face and form. She looked an immortal.... Placed so, she came first before the eye when the man, whose step was now heard without, swung the door wider and entered the room. The agent started from the table. “Ha, Harry Carthew! I looked to find you—” But Carthew had neither eye nor ear for the returned acquaintance and fellow-resister of the King. Harry Carthew stood like a man turned to stone.... Six years alone could not have made him look so much older. He looked much older—a stern and worn man, with a grim mouth and eyes where enthusiasm now burned bright and now sank among the embers of itself. He was dressed much as he used to dress. It was the face and figure of the man who had come to Heron’s cottage, but there had been a long warfare in the nature and some degree of change. He stood starkly silent, with a great, arrested look, as if the very elements of his being stood still.... Joan, rising, passed from the beam of light into the shadow by Aderhold. They stood side by side, hand touching hand. With a final crash and clangour the bells stopped ringing. “What is it?” demanded the agent. “You know these people—”