‘And you were so close, and I never guessed! Curst fortune, that; but never mind, since I have found you. Six months ago it was, Joan, and such things have happened to me, wonderful and sad. I am only this moment returned--but yesterday. But we will speak of all that anon. It is not the first, nor best nor worst, of what we have to say. Where have you been all these long years? And did you in truth eat a gingerbread ship every week in pretty pledge to me, you dear? My thoughts and words tumble over one another. They all push to be first out, because I am wild with such joy. Come where we can be quiet. Your colour comes and goes. Are you as madly happy as I am? Joan, had you never seen me once again since we parted, before that day of the sailing?’ ‘Never once, Brion.’ ‘Nor heard of me?’ ‘No, never.’ ‘Nor I of you. It near broke my heart. Well, where were you?’ ‘Here, in Plymouth.’ ‘My God! Not all the time?’ ‘Near all the time, indeed.’ ‘O, monstrous and incredible fate! So near and yet so divorced! And to think of all the suffering of these years! Who brought you here?’ ‘’Twas a maiden sister of Sir John’s. She had me to live with her after his death, and I am with her still. She ought that duty, she believed, to him and me.’ ‘And she loves you, Joan?’ ‘Not greatly, Brion, I fear. She loves atonement.’ ‘For what?’ The girl was silent, hanging her head a little. ‘Ah!’ said Brion. ‘Well, sit thee down.’ She was glad to do so, being more overcome than her looks confessed. They had found a warm grassy hollow, overlooking the Sound, where they could rest and talk without fear of interruption. Joan sat clasping her hands about her knees--a characteristic position which Brion observed with a laughing bliss. He flung himself beside her, and, resting on his elbow, feasted and feasted his starved eyes on all that recovered dearness. ‘You are not changed in the least,’ he said--‘only taller and a little fuller. You are one of those, I think, Joan, who hang at lovely ripeness all their lives.’ A faint pink mantled her cheek. She turned to him with a caressing reproof:-- ‘I am a woman now, Brion. It is not right you should speak to me so. And you have grown too, and into a fine man. I think you very handsome.’ ‘Do you?’ He laughed. ‘Why don’t you eat your gingerbread?’ ‘I don’t think I want it now.’ ‘Let us share it together, and be shipmates.’ ‘Very well.’ They broke and munched--or pretended to. They were both far too agitated to eat. ‘I have seen squawks, real squawks, since last we met,’ he said; and then suddenly, recalling the association the word conveyed, his eyes filled with gravity. ‘Now, tell me, Joan,’ he said, ‘why does this lady not love you?’ He sought to take her hand in his, but she would not let him. ‘I would not meet their wishes,’ she said, in a low voice. ‘That is one reason why.’ ‘What wishes?’ She looked him full in the face without answering. ‘Ah!’ he cried: ‘the suitor failed?’