"Of course you are, sweet. Here—wait till I make the bed comfortable and you can lie down." He shook up the meagre pillows, and after she had taken off her shoes he covered her with her coat and knelt down to chafe her cold feet. She looked so small and helpless, so uncomprehending and utterly thrown on his mercy, that his passion was held in check, and he composed her on the bed with soft fraternal hands. "There—the fire'll warm the place up in no time; and while you're resting I'll step across to the farm and see what I can bring back for supper."

"Oh, Vance, I don't want any supper."

"But I do—and piping hot," he called back with a factitious gaiety, wondering that he had not guessed the place to take her to would have been a hotel with an imitation marble restaurant, and a good movie next door where she could read her own romance into the screen heroine's.

He grimaced at the thought, and then, lighting the candle, so that the place might look as cheerful as possible, went out and walked across a stubbly field to the farm. The farmer's wife, a big good-natured Swedish woman, received him with friendly curiosity. She'd known one or two young fellows to come down as late as December, she said, but she'd never had a honeymoon before. The idea amused her, and she started at once warming up a can of tomato soup, and offered Vance a saucepan to heat the milk for breakfast. While she warmed the soup he sat in the window of the kitchen and looked out to the sea. What a place to live in always—solitude and beauty, and that great unresting Presence calling out night and day with many voices! ("Many voices"—where'd he read that?) There, the woman said; she guessed the soup was good and hot; maybe he'd like some crackers with it? Oh, he could settle when he went away—that was all right. She even rummaged out a tin of prepared coffee, left there with some of the camp stores; he could have that too, and a couple of towels. Soap was more difficult to come by, but she decided that they could have her youngest boy's, as he was off clamdigging for a week, and no great hand at washing anyhow. Carrying the pot of hot soup carefully, his other supplies in his pockets, Vance walked back through the twilight… .