themselves on Waring's face with the mute appeal of a dying animal in
the hands of its captor.

'I promise,' said Waring.

But the old man did not die; he wavered, lingered, then slowly
rallied,--very slowly. The weeks had grown into a month and two before
he could manage his boat again. In the mean time Waring hunted and
fished for the household, and even sailed over to the reef with Fog on
a bed in the bottom of the boat, coming back loaded with the spoil;
not once only, not twice did he go; and at last he knew the way, even
through, the fog, and came and went alone, bringing home the very
planks and beams of the ill-fated schooner. 'They will make a bright
fire in the evenings,' he said. The dogs lived on the north shore,
went hunting when their master came over and the rest of the time
possessed their souls in patience. And what possessed Waring, do you
ask? His name for it was 'necessity.' 'Of course I cannot leave them
to starve,' he said to himself.

Silver came and went about the castle, at first wilfully, then
submissively, then shyly. She had folded away all her finery in
wondering silence, for Waring's face had shown disapproval, and now
she wore always her simple white gown, 'Can you not put up your hair?'
he had asked one day; and from that moment the little head appeared
crowned with braids. She worked among her flowers and fed her gulls as
usual, but she no longer talked to them or told them stories. In the
evenings they all sat around the hearth, and sometimes the little
maiden sang; Waring had taught her new songs. She knew the sonnets
now, and chanted them around the castle to tunes of her own;
Shakespeare would not have known his stately measures, dancing along