"Was it long ago, Jim?"
"When she died?"
"Yes."
"Yes, very long ago. Six years ago."
"Before you came here, then?"
"Yes, sir."
After they had walked in silence for a little while, Marche said, "I suppose you have arranged for somebody to take me out?"
"Yes, sir."
They emerged from the lane to the shore at the same moment, and Marche glanced about for the expected bayman.
"Oh, there he is!" he said, as a figure came from behind a dory and waded leisurely shoreward through the shallows—a slight figure in hip boots and wool shooting hood and coat, who came lightly across the sands to meet him. And, astonished, he looked into the gray eyes of Molly Herold.