"I have got him here--in my boat in Port du Moulin, for I knew you could not credit it unless you saw him yourself." "But how-- ?" she faltered.
"He was among Torode's crew--he was wounded.

I recognised him, and we got him away lest--well, you understand?
He has been living on the Ecrehous, and he died there yesterday.

Will you see him ?" and he looked at her very earnestly, and she knew all that his look meant.
Her silence seemed long, while Uncle George looked at her entreatingly, and she looked at the floor, and seemed lost in thought.
"Yes," she said at last, and Went towards the door.
"Put on a shawl.

The night is cold," said Uncle George, and it seemed to me that there was something of a new and gentle right in his tone, something of proprietorship in his manner.
And so we went along the footpaths past La Moinerie and down the zigzag into Port du Moulin, the only bay along that coast into which my mother could possibly have gone by night, and that was why Uncle George had brought him there.
I do not think a word was spoken all the way.

Krok held the lantern for my mother's feet.