“We’re going home,” Marlowe said again, and Grace gave him an uncomprehending look.

“The ship…” was all she could say.

“The ship?” Marlowe replied, reality interrupting his imagined voyage back across the sea. “Oh shi…”

“The ship!” came a cry from the path that led to Abundance Beach.

All heads turned to see Hope, disheveled and dirty and with leaves tangled in her hair.

“The White Hart!” she said, breathing hard. “On the white sand!”

She pointed toward the distant beach, and Marlowe lifted up his eyes to where the path falls and where the path rises, and knew Rothgar’s words were all true.