"
"I did not intend to ask if he was a friend of yours," Damaris
returned, with a touch of grandeur, "but merely whether you could tell
me his name."
"Oh! it's Mrs. Faircloth's son I suppose--the person who keeps the Inn. I
heard he'd been home for a few days waiting for a ship"--and she turned
resolutely towards the house. "It's quite time that silver was taken
indoors and the library windows closed. But you must excuse me, Miss
Damaris, I can't have you stay out here in that thin gown in the damp.
You really must come with me, Miss."
And the child in Damaris obeyed. Dutifully it went, though the soul of
the eighteen-year-old Damaris was far away, started once more on an
anxious quest.
She heard the loose shingle shift and rattle under Faircloth's feet as he
swung down the near slope to the jetty. The sound pursued her, and again
she was overtaken--overwhelmed by foreboding and desire of flight.
CHAPTER II
WHICH CANTERS ROUND A PARISH PUMP
Not until the second bell was about to cease ringing did Theresa
Bilson--fussily consequential--reappear at The Hard.
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