weather, or strolled away through the town and up the face of the tall
white cliff, or lay awake in the dark night, listening to the rush and
moan of the waves--all through these doubts and questions there was
another and sweeter and clearer sound, that seemed to come from afar--

"She shall be yet who is more than all these were,
Than sister or wife or father unto us or mother."

However loud the sea was at night, that was the sound he heard, clear
and sweet--the sound of a girl's voice, that had joy in it, and faith in
the future, and that spoke to him of what was to be.

Well, the days passed; and still his friends did not come. He had many
trips across, to while away the time: and had become great friends with
the stout, black-haired French captain. He had conveyed Josephine and
Veronique and their little grandmother safely over, and had made them as
comfortable as was possible under trying circumstances. And always and
every day there were freshly-cut flowers and renewed fruit, and a
re-engaged saloon-carriage waiting for those strangers who did not come;
until both hotel people and railway people began to think Mr. Brand as
mad as the little French lady assured herself he was, when he said he
meant to cross the Channel twice for nothing.

At last--at last! He had strolled up to the Calais station, and was
standing on the platform when the train came in. But there was no need
for him to glance eagerly up and down at the now opening doors; for who
was this calmly regarding him--or rather regarding him with a smile of
surprise? Despite the big furred cloak and the hood, he knew at once; he
darted forward, lifted the lower latch and opened the door, and gave her
his hand.