"He's dead and gone, Faith," he repeated swiftly. "He's dead, and
gone.... And but for Noll Wing, Faith, you'd have loved me, three year
ago."
She looked up, then, and studied him, and she said softly: "You'll mind,
Dan'l, that Noll Wing is not but three weeks dead.... Even now."
"Three weeks dead!" he cried. "Have I not seen? He's been a dead man
this year past; a dead man that walked and talked and swore.... But dead
this year past. You've been a widow for a year, Faith...."
She shook her head. "So long as the _Sally_ lies here on the sand," she
said, "I'm not Noll Wing's widow; I'm his wife. It was his job to bring
her home; and so it is my job, too. And will be, till she's fast to the
wharf at home."
"Then you'll die his wife, Faith; for the _Sally_'ll never stir from
here."
"If she never does," said Faith, "I'll die Noll Wing's wife, as you
say."
He cried breathlessly: "What was Noll Wing that you should cling to him
so, Faith?"
"He was the man I loved," she said.
His face blackened, and his fist banged the desk. "Aye; and but for him
you'd have loved me. Loved me...."
"I never told you that, Dan'l."
"But 'twas true. I could see. You'd have loved me, Faith...."
"Dan'l," she said slowly, "I'm in no mind to talk so much of love, this
night."
The man sat back in silence for a space, not looking at her; nor did she
look at him. In the end, however, he shaped his words afresh. "Faith,"
he said softly, "we were boy and girl together, you and I. Grew up
together, played together.... I loved you before you were more than a
girl. Before you ever saw Noll Wing. Can you remember?"
He was striving with all his might to win her; and Faith said gently:
"Yes, Dan'l. I remember."
"When I sailed away, last cruise but one, you kissed me, Faith. Do you
mind?"