Waiting alone in the little walled garden, with the bloody, arcane shouts of the street hawkers wafting in from outside, the wholly heartbroken Sandy thought once more of Tom, the man she had belonged to so completely. He was now, according to The Times, marooned by his own crew on the Isle of Retribution.
   At long last came a knock at the door, and she leapt to her feet with hope — and alarm — in her eyes. He was here! “Come to me, my giddy little goose!” he intoned with a confidence that brooked neither denial nor disagreement.
   It was then that he slid the little ring onto her finger, and as he dabbed at her tears with the handkerchief she herself had made for him, she vowed never again to do anything spiteful, foolish or immature.