He saw her laughing at him, and she was alone.

She was not the Mary Standish he had known aboard ship.

Fear, the quiet pallor of her face, and the strain and repression which had seemed to be a part of her were gone.

She was aflame with life, yet it was not with voice or action that she revealed herself.

It was in her eyes, the flush of her cheeks and lips, the poise of her slim body as she waited for him.