And then commendably rallied her forces, resolute not to be found unworthy or ungrateful.
"Yes--come.

I am here," she called in response to that lately heard calling of her name, desiring to make an act of faith whereby to assure herself she was indeed ready, and assure her hearer of her readiness to accept the impending gift.
"I am here," she began again to affirm, but stopped abruptly, the words choking in her throat.
For, as with decreasing distance the figure grew distinct, she saw, to her blank amazement, not Sir Charles Verity, her father, as she expected, but the blue reefer jacket, peaked cap, and handsome bearded face of Darcy Faircloth, the young merchant sea-captain, emerge from the blur of the wet.

And the revulsion of feeling was so sharp, the shock at once so staggering and intimate--as summing up all the last ten days confused experience--that Damaris could not control herself.

She turned away with a wail of distress, threw out her hands, and then, covering her eyes with them, bowed her head.
The young man came forward and stood near her; but an appreciable time elapsed before he spoke.

When he presently did so, his voice reached her as again singularly familiar in tone, though strange in diction and in accent.
"I'm sorry if I startled you," he began, "but I hailed you just now, and you told me to come .-- I concluded you meant what you said.