Diccon Dawn opened the door. They entered the workshop. “This place is now mine. I do not know if you know it, but I am a smith in gold and silver.”
Jankin had brought and left upon the table a loaf and cheese, a pitcher of ale and a platter heaped with strawberries. Moreover there was water provided and candles in the stand and he had swept the room. All the tools of this trade were about; at the back stood the furnace. The room faced the south and the west, and through the window streamed the glowing light. They entered, they drank a little water, then stood and faced each the other.
She spoke. “We came away upon the ship together, two mortals in the most merciless danger. ‘That cannot be helped!’ I thought, after the first astounding when all the blood went from my heart and my knees bent under me. The Vineyard shook us down together like two leaves in London. ‘That cannot be helped,’ I thought, ‘but now the wind will drive the one north and the other south!’ ‘Lodge at the Old Anchor,’ says Vineyard master. I go there, and I find you there before me. Still the wind does not rise. But now it must!”
“You have gold,” said the other. “I saw him to whom we owe more than gold give it to you. There is still lodging at the Old Anchor. Return there if you choose. I will walk with you. You shall lodge as you have lodged, and I as I have lodged. But this house is now mine. Lodge here, Morgen Fay!”
“No! Now at last we speak together! Now at last!”
“Now at last!”
She stood away from the table, he nearer window. Gold and red sunset was behind him, a gold and red pool upon the floor between them, and a rosy light struck her—face, head and throat.
It was again—it was again!
She cried, “Cell at Silver Cross, and you on your knees before heaven, and I the ape!”
He put his hands before his face. “All heaven was mine!”