Barbara could not resist the impulse, but laid her hand caressingly on his head, burying her fingers in the rich waves of his hair.
He looked up, and smiled. This gentle caress was pleasant, after the coldness with which Elizabeth had driven him from her side.
"How profoundly you were thinking!" he said. "I was almost afraid to disturb you."
"Yes," answered Barbara, "I was trying to find out what has swept so much of the darkness from my life within the last hour."
"And did you find a happy conclusion? I hope so, for then I shall think that some pleasure at my coming was mingled with your thoughts. Oh, dear lady, you never will know how keenly we felt your loss."
"And yet I am a stranger to you all."
"Some people are never strangers. I feel as if I had known you from the cradle up—as if my happiness would never be complete if you were away. The touch of your hand soothes me, and your voice stirs my heart, like music heard before thought or memory comes. When I am near you, a solemn gladness quiets me into a very child. Oh, lady, I love you dearly."
Barbara did not start, or change color. This language seemed natural to her, as the rush of the waves on the beach. She simply bent down and laid her hand on his forehead. He drew a deep breath and was silent. The smile upon his lips was like that of an infant Samuel when he prays.
"I have found you at last; you will never, never leave us again!"
"When the ship sails I must go yonder," she answered, pointing seaward.