Leslie starts.
"That is Ragged Points!" she replies. "I had no idea we had come so far; please tell him I am going to put the boat round; it must be very late!"
"No, it isn't," he says. "I can tell by the moon. Can't we go a little farther?"
But she ports the helm, and old William, without a word, swings the sail over, and the boat's nose is pointing to land.
Yorke looks at Portmaris, asleep in the moonlight, regretfully.
"That's the worst of being thoroughly happy and comfortable," he says. "It always comes to an end and you have to come back. What a pace we are going, too!" he adds, almost in a tone of complaint.
"The wind is with us," says Leslie.
"I should like to stay at Portmaris and buy a boat," he says, after a moment or two. "It would be very jolly."
Leslie smiles.
"It is not always fine even at Portmaris," she says. "Sometimes the waves are mountain high, and the sea runs up over the quay as if it meant to wash the village away."