When he looked, not outward, but inward, and saw Josephine's vision of life, he believed he ought to go forward and beat off the serpent from the dove.
The colloquy was not very long.

Then O'Shea led Josephine's horse nearer to Caius.
"Madame and my wife will go with ye," he said.

"I've told the men to get the boat out." "I did not say that," moaned Josephine.
Her face was buried in her hands, and Caius remembered how those pretty white hands had at one time beckoned to him, and at another had angrily waved him away.

Now they were held helplessly before a white face that was convulsed with fear and shame and self-abandonment.
"There ain't no particular hurry," remarked O'Shea soothingly; "but Mammy has packed up all in the houses that needs to go, and she'll bring warm clothes and all by the time the boat's out, so there's no call for madame to go back.

It would be awful unkind to the girls to set them crying; and"-- this to Caius--"ye jist go and put up yer things as quick as ye can." His words were accompanied by the sound of the fishermen putting rollers under the small schooner that had been selected.