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travelers.”
    Phebe hesitated. “I intrude, I fear. A moment alone is so precious now. Already I’ve learned that.”
    Arbella nodded and sighed, but checked herself. “Our gracious Lord has harder lessons than that in store for us, but with His Mercy we’ll conquer.”
    Why, she is homesick as I am, thought Phebe with sharp sympathy. “It means much to us all to have you venture with us, your ladyship,” said Phebe earnestly. “It gives us courage.”
    “Ah, child—only God can give you that.” But Phebe saw that her words had pleased. Arbella took the girl’s hand and drew her down on the stone beside her. “Are you with your husband, mistress? You’re not truly of our Puritan congregation since you wear a wedding ring.”
    “No,” said Phebe glancing at the gold band on her finger then at the lady’s ringless hands. “Forgive me, but I can’t think it wrong.”
    “Nor I,” said Arbella faintly, “but it’s a Papist symbol for all that and we must purify our church. My beloved husband thinks it very wrong,” she added, half to herself, thinking of Isaac and his burning zeal to cleanse their form of worship from corruption. He had denied himself even this hour’s respite from the ship, and was now as usual closeted with Governor Winthrop planning and praying for the success of their colony in the New World.
    She turned to Phebe. “But tell me of yourself, mistress.” She was much interested in this girl who obviously came from a class she hardly knew. Neither gentry nor of the lower orders.
    Phebe, always self-possessed, willingly answered Arbella’s questions, and when she spoke of Mark, Arbella smiled, accurately building an image of a handsome impetuous youth, eager for adventure, but well knowing how to hold a woman’s love.
    “But if it’s not for conscience’ sake he emigrates, what is it he hopes to find in the New England?” she asked at last, and Phebe, who had herself often been troubled by this question, found the answer promptly.
    “Freedom, milady—and—” her lips parted in her rare smile, “and—I believe—fish.”
    “Fish! Is he then a fisherman by trade?”
    “No, milady, a clothier, but he hates it. He has been much influenced by the clergyman, Master White, at Dorchester, who believes that in fishing New England will; find great fortune. Mark is drawn to the sea, he ever loved the docks and boats at Weymouth.”
    “But you—mistress—” said Arbella frowning. “You’re bred to gentler ways, I cannot see you as a fishwife.”
    Phebe hesitated, fearing to seem forward. “I think, milady, there will be no gentle ways for anyone out there in the wilderness, no matter what we be.”
    A darkness deepened the lady’s blue eyes. She rose from the stone. Phebe saw that the long pale hand which drew together her fur cloak wavered, but her answer was firm. “You’re right. I pray that I may have the strength.”
    As they stood there, they heard the far-off boom of a cannon.
    “The signal—” said Arbella, turning toward the water. “We must get back to the ships. With God’s mercy we shall meet again at Naumkeag. God keep you, mistress.”
    “And you, milady—” said Phebe softly. She watched the tall figure walk down the beach, and she felt again the glow of pride she had tried to voice earlier. The Lady Arbella Johnson was the daughter and sister of an earl, the most noble Earls of Lincoln. What if many of the malcontents did now sneer at title, what if the new dissenting creeds averred that all are equal in the sight of God, was there not special courage required of such a one as the Lady Arbella, sheltered, delicate, and accustomed to delicacy. The first noblewoman to venture toward the New England. For conscience’ sake, thought Phebe, docilely echoing the Puritan lady’s own words. But from deep within her a surer voice spoke. Not only for conscience’ sake, she goes for love of her husband—even as I.
    As if in answer she saw Mark racing down the