"So soon? And you came straight here? When I saw you just now, I
thought it was a vision: if the dogs had not been here--I remembered
that dogs do not see ghosts. Oh, Stafford, it is so long, so very long
since I have seen you, so sad and dreary a time! Tell me--ah, tell me
everything! Where you have been. But I know! Stafford, did you know
that I saw you the day you sailed?" she shuddered faintly. "I thought
that was a vision, too, that it was my fancy: it would not have been
the first time I had fancied I had seen you." He drew her to the bank,
and sinking on it held her in his arms, almost like a child.

"You saw me! You--there in London! And yet I can understand. Dearest, I
did not hear of your trouble until a few weeks ago. But I must tell
you--"

"Yes, tell me. I long to hear! Think, Stafford! I have not heard of
you--I saw you at the concert in London one night--"

He started and held her more tightly.

--"I looked round and saw you; and when you turned and looked up
towards me, it seemed as if you must have seen me. But tell me! Oh, I
want to hear everything!"

The spell wrought by the joy of his presence still held her reason, her
memory, in thrall; one thought, one fact, dominated all others: the
fact that he was here, that she was in his arms, with her head on his
breast as of old.