For a few seconds the fiery light stained his hands, his throat, his hair, his handsome bearded face; then swiftly faded, leaving him like a giant leaden image set up against a vast pallor of sea and sky.
Mary Fisher choked down a hasty exclamation.
"Come, do come, Miss Damaris, before the grass gets too wet," she said almost sharply.

"It's going to be a drenching dew to-night." "Yes--directly--in a minute--but, Mary, tell me who that is ?" The woman hesitated.
"Out on the Bar, do you mean?
No one I am acquainted with, Miss." "I did not intend to ask if he was a friend of yours," Damaris returned, with a touch of grandeur, "but merely whether you could tell me his name." "Oh! it's Mrs.Faircloth's son I suppose--the person who keeps the Inn.

I heard he'd been home for a few days waiting for a ship"-- and she turned resolutely towards the house.

"It's quite time that silver was taken indoors and the library windows closed.

But you must excuse me, Miss Damaris, I can't have you stay out here in that thin gown in the damp.
You really must come with me, Miss." And the child in Damaris obeyed.