Good morrow, Davy.

Can you not hear me call?
I have called thee so often of late! Good morrow! Good morrow!...
I doff my hat, Davy--at last--to God!" David's face whitened.

All his visions had been true visions, his dreams true dreams.

Brave Benn Claridge had called to him at his door--"Good morrow! Good morrow! Good morrow!" Had he not heard the knocking and the voice?
Now all was made clear.

His path lay open before him--a far land called him, his quiet past was infinite leagues away.