The night winds were beginning their wild dances beyond the bar, and the fishing hamlet across the harbour was gemmed with lights as Anne and her husband Gilbert, finally a doctor, drove up the poplar lane. The door of the little house opened, and a warm glow of firelight flickered out into the dusk. Gilbert lifted Anne from the buggy and led her into the garden, through the little gate, up the trim, red path to the sandstone step. “Welcome home,” he whispered, and hand in hand they stepped over the threshold of their house of dreams...and the story begins.