Andrew, with his gun over his shoulder, his rough tweed clothes splashed with black mud, gazed at her as though she were an apparition. Then he saw something in her face which told him so much that he forgot the little catboat, barely out of sight, he forgot the little red-roofed village barely a mile away, he forgot the lone figures of the shrimpers, standing like sentinels far away in the salt pools. He took Jeanne into his arms, and he felt her lips melt upon his.
"The Duke was right, then," he murmured a moment later, as he stood back for a moment, his face transformed with the new thing that had come into his life.
"Dear man!" Jeanne murmured.
They watched the boat gliding away in the distance.
"I believe," he declared, "that they went away on purpose."
She laughed as they scrambled down on to the marsh, and turned toward the place where he had first met her.
"I believe they did," she answered.