Waiting alone in the humble comfort of old Rebecca’s hovel, with the tenebrous smell of new-cut grass wafting in from outside, Howard — she who had always seemed so cold! — thought once more of the ‘Parisian Pirate’, Paul, the mysterious stranger with the large dog. He was now, according to father, marooned by his own crew on the Isle of Retribution.
   Abruptly, came the thud of fists, a muffled cry, fighting on the stairway, and she shut her eyes tight for one moment of silent prayer. He was here! “Our love will outlast eternity, my perfect little carrot!” he breathed with a confidence that brooked neither denial nor disagreement.
   Only in this moment of extremity could it have happened that the horror of these last months vanished in a blaze of joy, 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.