'Ay,' said Marion. 'I remember.' She bit her lip, and looked straight ahead. Then, realising that village eyes would soon be on her, she straightened herself in the saddle.
'Mawfy!' Roger leaned over and took her hand.
She glanced at the warm dark eyes and looked hastily away again. A wave of colour wiped out the whiteness of cheek and throat. Roger was pulling the damp glove from her hand. The fingers lay limply between his own.
'It is good-bye, just for a little time,' said Roger, and caressingly he passed the trembling hand across his bent face.
Struggling for composure, Marion withdrew her fingers. The village lay before them. She dimly noted that a child had run out from a cottage, seen them, and run in again, shouting something. She dimly saw groups of sailors on the quay shading their eyes and staring up the valley. Then next minute a girl ran bareheaded to meet them and stood with clasped hands. It was Charity Borlase.
'Jack said as how you'd do it, Mistress,' she said simply, her eyes shining. 'The boat's waiting down along, Master Roger, and tide's running grand. Silas be going to row you out.'
Roger dismounted and lifted Marion from the saddle. 'Take Mistress Marion home, Charity, up the short path, and look after her well. She is very, very tired.'
He bared his head as his eyes sought Marion's, and once more, careless of Charity's presence, he lifted her fingers to his lips. The next minute he was striding down the beach. He leaped into a boat pointed out by a waiting youth and took an oar. As the boat shot out into the estuary hoarse cheers rose from the quay. The valley rocked with the sound. Women and children clustered by the water, waving their hands and crying. Charity's apron was at her eyes.
'God bless 'ee, Master Roger!' came voice after voice to Marion's ears.
Marion stood motionless on the beach. The last she saw was Roger's hand waving as the boat pitched into the heavy seas about the harbour mouth.