“He did not tell me this, but he liked you.”

“He was just,” Grace replied.  “People knew, and trusted him.  He had none of the rancor that often leads us wrong.  When he was firm he did not get angry.  That kind of attitude is hard, but it makes things easier.  But you were in America with his brother, were you not?”

“I was in the United States, and afterwards in some of the countries on the Caribbean.”

“Ah,” said Grace with curiosity, “that must have been interesting!  One understands that is a beautiful and romantic coast, with its memories of the great Elizabethan sailors and the pirates.”

“It is romantic, and dangerous in parts.  You can land at some of the towns from modern mail-boats and find smart shops and cafes; others have fallen into ruin and lie, half-hidden by the forest, beside malaria-haunted lagoons.  You steal in through the mist at the top of a high tide, much as the old pirates did, and when you land, find hints of a vanished civilization and the Spaniards’ broken power.  But you seem to know something about the coast.”

Grace smiled.  “You look surprised!  There is a library at Tarnside, although it is not often used, and we have books about the voyages of the buccaneers.  One book is rather fascinating.  But what were you doing in the lagoons?”

“Sometimes we loaded dyewoods and rubber; sometimes we lent money to ambitious politicians in return for unlawful trading privileges, and now and then engaged in business that was something like that of the old adventurers.”

“After that, you must find the dale very tame,” Grace remarked, and quietly studied Kit.

She had liked his honesty and resolution before he went abroad, but he had gained something she had not noted then.  Although he wore rough working clothes and had obviously been digging, he had an elusive touch of distinction, and there was a hint of command in his quiet look.  He had seen the world, confronted dangers, and used power, and this had put a stamp on him.

“It is hard to imagine you a pirate,” she remarked with a twinkle.  “You don’t look the part, and, no doubt, like other occupations, it requires some study.”

Kit laughed.  “One does the best one can!  I rather think taking trouble and a determination to make good are as useful as specialized training.”

“Perhaps that’s true.  It’s curious, in a way, but I expect a good farmer, for example, might make a successful buccaneer.  One understands, though, that the last pirate was hanged a hundred years since.”

“There are a few left, although their methods have changed with the times.  Some day I would like to tell you about my uncle.  He was, so to speak, a survival, and I think you would appreciate him.  But how have things been going in the dale?”

Grace’s twinkle vanished, her look became serious, and Kit thought he noted signs of strain.  After all, she had changed since he left Ashness.  It was not that she looked older, although she was now a rather stately woman and not an impulsive girl; he felt that she had known care.