sat me on my bed where the moon made a glory. And sitting there, I unfolded
this my treasure that was no more than a woman's gown and fell to smoothing
its folds with reverent hand; very tattered it was and worn by much hard
usage, its bravery all tarnished and faded, yet for me it seemed yet to
compass something of the vivid grace and beauty of that loved and vanished
presence.

Almost three years of solitude, of deluding hopes and black despair, almost
three years, forgotten alike of God and man. So that I had surely run mad
but for the labour of my days and the secret hope I cherished even yet that
some day (soon or late) I should see again that loved form, hear again the
sweet, vital ring of that voice whereof I had dreamed so long.

Almost three years, forgotten alike of God and man. And so albeit I prayed
no more (since I had proved prayers vain) hope yet lived within me and
every day, night and morn, I would climb that high hill the which I had
named the Hill of Blessed Hope, to strain my eyes across the desolation
of waters for some sign which should tell me my time of waiting was
accomplished.

Now as I sat thus, lost in bitter thought, I rose to my feet, letting fall
the gown to lie all neglected, for borne to me on the gentle wind came a
sound there was no mistaking, the sharp report of a musket.

For a moment I stood utterly still while the shot yet rang and re-echoed
in my ears and felt all at once such an ecstasy of joy that I came nigh
swooning and needs must prop myself against the rocky wall; then, the
faintness passing, I came hasting and breathless where I might look seaward
and beheld this: