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Updated: July 9, 2025
The man brought me from Ipswich to the outskirts of Farlingford, and I sent him back to the high road to wait for me there, to put up and stay all night, if necessary." Barebone was beginning to feel tired. The wind was abominably cold. He heard with satisfaction that Colville had as usual foreseen his wishes.
"'Tis only on Sundays, when 'John' rings slow, 'tis misty," answered a sharp-voiced woman, with a laugh. For half of Farlingford was already at the quay, and three or four boats were bumping and splashing against the steps. The tide was racing out, and the wind, whizzing slantwise across it, pushed it against the wooden piles of the quay, making them throb and tremble.
As the story neared its end, he glanced round the room, to make sure that none was listening to their conversation. "Dormer Colville," he repeated. "Does he come into it?" "He came to Farlingford with the Marquis de Gemosac, out of pure good-nature because the Marquis could speak but little English. He is a charming man. So unselfish and disinterested." "Who? The Marquis?" "No; Dormer Colville."
Miriam's eyes were raised for a moment from her book. "Is it like that they talk in France?" she asked. "Are those the sentiments of the great republic?" Barebone laughed aloud. "I thought I could make you look up from your book," he answered. "One has merely to cast a slur upon the poor your dear poor of Farlingford and you are up in arms in an instant.
Turner quitted the enclosure of the Tuileries gardens and crossed the quay toward the Pont Royal. But he stopped short under the trees by the river wall, with a low whistle of surprise. Crossing the bridge, toward him, and carrying a carpet-bag of early Victorian design, was Mr. Septimus Marvin, rector of Farlingford, in Suffolk.
Few knew of it in Farlingford, though many must have suspected the true explanation of the prolonged stay of the two strangers at the "Black Sailor." Captain Clubbe and Septimus Marvin, Dormer Colville and Monsieur de Gemosac shared this knowledge, and awaited, impatiently enough, an answer which could assuredly be only in the affirmative.
Which was untrue; for River Andrew knew no more than the rest of Farlingford of a man who, having been literally cast up by the sea at their gates, had lived his life within those gates, had married a Farlingford woman, and had at last gone the way of all Farlingford without telling any who or what he was.
"You will find things changed," Colville had said, as they walked across the marsh from Farlingford, toward the Ipswich road. And the words came back to the minds of both, on that Thursday of Madame de Chantonnay, which many remember to this day. Not only did they find things changed, but themselves they found no longer the same. Both remembered the quarrel, and the outcome of it.
You will never find your way across the marsh after dark," said Sep the learned in tides and those practical affairs of nature, which were as a closed book to the scholar. Parson Marvin vaguely acknowledged the warning and went away, leaving Sep to accompany Miriam on her daily errand to the simple shops in Farlingford, which would awake to life and business now that the sea-fog was gone.
His answer had been made ready weeks before while he sat on the weather-beaten seat set against the wall of "The Black Sailor" at Farlingford. "Tide's turned," he answered, simply. "You'd better get your oilskins on again and go." "Yes," said Loo, with a queer laugh. "I fancy I shall want my oilskins."
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