” “You alarm me,” she murmured, smiling. “Time for my Patience,” she said. He seemed too noisy. Very well. A time may come when this little chap will need my aid, and, depend upon it, he shall never want a friend in Owen Wood. And he did not lack courage. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. “I believe it is. ” There came a silence again.
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