So she and Tubal Cain were married at the end of the month, and disappeared on their honeymoon, no one quite knew whither.  They went on the last day of April.

At half-past eight in the evening of May 6th I had just finished my seventh miserable dinner.  My windows were open to the evening, and the scent of the gorse-bushes below the terrace hung heavily underneath the verandah and stole into the room where I sat before the white cloth, in the lamp-light.  I had taken a cigarette and was reaching for the match-box when I chanced to look up, and paused to marvel at a singular beauty in the atmosphere outside.

It seemed a final atonement of sky and earth in one sheet of vivid blue.  Of form I could see nothing; the heavens, the waters of the creek below, the woods on the opposite shore were simply indistinguishable—­blotted out in this one colour.  If you can recall certain advertisements of Mr. Reckitt, and can imagine one of these transparent, with a soft light glowing behind it, you will be as near as I can help you to guessing the exact colour.  And, but for a solitary star and the red lamp of a steamer lying off the creek’s mouth, this blue covered the whole firmament and face of the earth.

I lit my cigarette and stepped out upon the verandah.  In a minute or so a sound made me return, fetch a cap from the hall, and descend the terrace softly.

My feet trod on bluebells and red-robins, and now and then crushed the fragrance out of a low-lying spike of gorse.  I knew the flowers were there, though in this curious light I could only see them by peering closely.  At the foot of the terrace I pulled up and leant over the oak fence that guarded the abrupt drop into the creek.

There was a light just underneath.  It came from the deck of the hospital-ship, and showed me two figures standing there—­a woman leaning against the bulwarks, and a man beside her.  The man had a fiddle under his chin, and was playing “Annie Laurie,” rather slowly and with a deal of sweetness.

When the melody ceased, I craned still further over the oak fence and called down, “Tubal Cain!”

The pair gave a start, and there was some whispering before the answer came up to me.

“Is that you, sir?”

“To be sure,” said I.  “What are you two about on board The Gleaner?”

Some more whispering followed, and then Tubal Cain spoke again—­

“It doesn’t matter now, sir.  We’ve lived aboard here for a week, and to-night’s the end of our honeymooning.  If ’tis no liberty sir, Annie’s wishful that you should join us.”

Somehow, the invitation, coming through this mysterious atmosphere, seemed at once natural and happy.  The fiddle began again as I stepped away from the fence and went down to get my boat out.  In three minutes I was afloat, and a stroke or two brought me to the ship’s ladder.  Annie and Tubal Cain stood at the top to welcome me.