She: I know not, except that he is Adam and none like to him.
Myself: Yet is he only mortal, to be captured or slain one way or another.
How if he cometh never back?
She: Why then, Martin—needs must I forego all thought of England, of home, of the comfortable joys of civilisation, of all laws, and instead of all these cleave to you—my beloved!
Myself: Damaris!
She: Oh, Martin, dear, foolish blunderer to dream you could fright me with tales of hardship, or dangers, or solitude when you were by, to think I must break my heart for home and England when you are both to me. England or home without you were a desert; with you the desert shall be my England, my home all my days, if God so will it.
Myself: Oh, loved woman, my brave, sweet Joan! And the laws—what of the laws?
She: God shall be our law, shall give us some sign.
Myself: Joan—come to me!
She (faintly): No! Ah, no!
Myself: Come!