"Paul! Is it really you?
Now indeed I feel that I have reached my native land again.

O Paul, I have wearied sorely for you.

Why followed you not me to France, as we planned?
Every day I looked for tidings of you, and none came.

But this meeting atones for all." It was the bright dawn of an Easter day, and Paul, after a night's hard riding, stood within the precincts of the Abbey of Cerne, not far from the seaport of Weymouth.

His hands were closely grasped in those of young Edward, who was looking into his face with beaming eyes.
It was no longer the fugitive Edward of the winter months, but a royally equipped and accoutred youth, upon whose noble face and figure Paul's eyes dwelt with fond pride.