His thoughts were more constant than his gaze; they never left his little cottage across the cove.

In fact, they had scarcely left it for the past month.

He washed the breakfast dishes, set the room in order, and was turning once more toward the window, when he heard a footstep approaching the open door.

He knew the step; it was one with which he had been familiar during other and happier days, and now, once more--after all the years and his savage determination to forget and to hate--it had the power to awaken strange emotions in his breast.

Yet his first move was to run into the living room and close his helper's chamber door.