"Then the latch was lifted, and Robert Lovyes stepped in. His beard was black then—coal black, like his hair—and his face looked out from it pale as a ghost and shining wet from the sea. The water dripped from his clothes and made a puddle about his feet.
"'How often did I knock?' he asked pleasantly. 'Twice, I think. Yes, twice.'
"Then he sat down on the settle, very deliberately pulled off his great sea-boots, and emptied the water out of them.
"'What island is this?' he asked.
"'Tresco.'
"'Tresco!' he exclaimed, in a quick, agitated whisper, as though he dreaded yet expected to hear the name. 'We were wrecked, then, on the Golden Ball.'
"'Wrecked?' cried my father; but the man went on pursuing his own thoughts.
"'I swam to an islet.'
"'It would be Norwithel,' said my father.
"'Yes,' said he, 'it would be Norwithel.' And my mother asked curiously—