le and frightened as
usual. Her breath came quickly as they neared the reef, and Carrington
with a sure hand guided the little craft outside into the surf, and
rounding a point, landed them safely in a miniature harbor he had noted
there. Keith had counted the days, and felt sure that the answer from
the convent would come soon. His offer--for he had made it his alone
without Carrington's aid--had been munificent; there could be but one
reply. The little Sister would soon go back to the lime tree, the white
rosebush, the doves, the old organ that was "so large"--all the quiet
routine of the life she loved so well; and they would see her small
oval face and timid dark eyes no more for ever. So he took her for a
last walk down the reef, while Melvyna made coffee, and Carrington,
having noticed a dark line floating on the water, immediately went out
in the boat, of course to see what it was.

The reef had its high backbone, like the island. Some day it would be
the island with another reef outside, and the light-house beach would
belong to the mainland. Down the stretch of sand toward the sea the
pelicans stood in rows, toeing a mark, solemn and heavy, by the
hundreds--a countless number--for the reef was their gathering place.

"They are holding a conclave," said Keith. "That old fellow has the
floor. See him wag his head."

In and out among the pelicans, and paying no attention to them and
their conclave, sped the sickle-bill curlews, actively probing
everywhere with their long, grotesque, sickle-shaped bills; and woe be
to the burrowing things that came in their way. The red-beaked oyster
bird flew by, and close down to the sea skimmed the razor-bill
shear-water, with his head bent forward and his feet tilted up, just
grazing the water with his open bill as he flew, and leaving a shining
mark behind, as though he held a pencil in his mouth and was running a
line. The lazy gulls, who had no work to do, and would not have done it
if they had, rode at ease on the little wavelets close in shore. The
Sister, being asked, confessed that she liked the lazy gulls best.
Being pressed to say why, she thought it was because they were more
like the white doves that sat on the old stone well-curb in the convent
garden.

Keith had always maintained that he liked to talk to women. He said
that the talk of any woman was more piquant than the conversation of
the most brilliant men. There was only one obstacle: the absolute
inabilit