"And how is it that you are home so quickly?"
"I took the first train from Yarmouth, and wired for a special from the junction. I knew that my mother would be anxious, and they told me that there was very little chance of telegrams being delivered safely; so much damage had been done to the wires."
"You thought of no one but your mother?" I whispered, a little reproachfully.
"My darling! how was I to know that any one else cared?"
"Ah!"
The sense of relief in my heart was over-powering, I seemed to have no desire for speech. The sound of his voice was like music to me, and I preferred to listen.
"It seems to me that I have had no thought save of you, Margharita," he went on slowly. "In all that storm, when flying clouds and spray and driving rain shut us in on every side, I thought of nothing else save of you. No one knows the boat so well as I, and for the last four hours I was lashed to a board, steering. Margharita, all that time, and all the time I stood on the bridge, I seemed to see you always. Sometimes it was the mist of rain and spray which opened to let you through; and sometimes—sometimes I almost fancied that you were by my side. Think of you, Margharita! Why, I was a haunted man. In all that thunder of sea and wind, when I had to use a speaking trumpet to make my men hear me a few yards away, I could only hear your voice in my ears as distinctly as you hear me now. They say that when one is in danger, or near death, that the imagination is quickened. It must have been so with me, for your presence and the sound of your voice were very real to me."
"How did you find me here?" I asked.
"Well, as soon as I could decently get away from my people, I asked for you. They sent to your room, and could not find you. Then one of the servants thought that she had seen you leave the house and come this way. So I started off in search."
"It was foolish of me to come out. I could not rest indoors."