When the man came trotting down the trail at last, shouting ahead to her as he came, Faith was sitting demurely upon the sand, clothed and in her right mind.... She was trying to appear unconscious of the fact that around the back of her neck, and her pink little ears, wet tendrils of hair were curling.... When he came in sight, she rose gravely to meet him; and he looked at her with quick, keen eyes, and laughed.... She turned red as a flame....
"I don't blame you," he said. "It's a beautiful pool...."
She wanted to be angry with him; but she could not.... His laughter was infectious; she smiled at him. "I—couldn't resist it," she said....
She was studying the man. He wore, now, the accustomed garments of a seaman, the clothes which the men aboard the Sally wore. Harsh and awkward garments; yet they could not hide the graceful strength of the man. He was not so big as Noll, she thought; not quite as big as even Dan'l Tobey.... Yet there was such symmetry in his limbs and the breadth of his shoulders that he seemed a well-bulked man. His cheeks were lean and brown, and his lips met with a pleasant firmness.... A man naturally gay, she thought; yet with strength in him....
They started down the path toward the sea together. He carried a cloth-wrapped bundle, swinging in his hand. She looked at him sidewise; asked: "Who are you? How do you come to be here?"
"My name's Brander," he said. "I was third mate on the Thomas Morgan."
She tried to remember a whaler by that name. "New Bedford?" she asked.
"No.... Nantucketer."
Faith looked at him curiously. "But—what happened? Was she lost?..."
Brander's face was sober; he hesitated. "No, not lost," he said. He did not seem minded to go on; and Faith asked again: