'Ask his business, Ellen.'
She was almost relapsing into her dream again, when she was startled by seeing a man appear beside her.
'Dulcie?' said a voice, that made her heart thrill.
She sprang up to find herself confronted by a gentleman, whose face, though thin and worn, seemed deeply tanned by the sun, so that his scorched neck was absolutely red; his dark moustache was thick and heavy, his shoulders broad and square.
'Dearest Dulcie, don't you know me?' said he, holding out his hands and arms.
'Florian—is this you—really you?'
'I thought you would not quite forget me.'
'Forget you!' said Dulcie, in a low and piercing voice, as she fell upon his breast, and his loving arms went closely round her.
'Oh, Florian, I did not know you were in England!'
'We were landed at Plymouth three days ago. I got your address from good old Paul Pentreath, procured leave of absence, and came on here without a moment's delay, my own darling.'