Dolores thinks, as he takes her hand,
And hears all her story, and understands
The cry of her desperate need.
An orange he gives to each weary man,[875]
To freshen the fevered mouth,
Then forth[876] they go down the old sea-wall,
And they hear[877] in the dusk the pickets call,
And the row-boat is moored on the shadowy shore,[878]
The Northern saint can manage an oar,
And the boat glides fast[879] to the south.