And then they disgorged. "At length I am my own master," murmured the knight, as his foot touched the strand. Austin could scarcely credit his senses when he beheld him. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. She cried and sobbed in fits. The lady's name's engraved inside, but so small I can scarcely read it. “Under the Wilde Frau—which was named after you.
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