sand from his face and eyes,
and as soon as his whirling wits settled a little, comprehended what had
happened.

Half buried in the debris of a miniature landslide, he sat at the foot
of the bluff, which reared its convex face behind and over him.
Immediately above his head a ragged break in its profile showed where
the sand, held together solely by beach grass, had given way beneath the
weight of the antagonists.

A little distance from him the other man was picking himself up,
apparently unhurt but completely surfeited. Without delay, with not even
so much as a glance at Whitaker, he staggered off for a few paces, then
settled into a heavy, lumbering trot westward along the beach.

This conduct was so inconsistent with his late belligerent humour that
Whitaker felt inclined to rub his eyes a second time. He had
anticipated--as soon as in condition to reason at all--nothing less than
an immediate resumption of hostilities. Yet here was the fellow running
away. Incomprehensible!

And yet, save at the first blush, not so incomprehensible: the chief of
the man's desire had been unquestionably to see without being seen; his
rage at being detected had led him to a misstep; now he was reverting to
his original plan with all possible expedition. He did not wish the
woman to recognize him; therefore he was putting himself out of her way.
For she was approaching.

When Whitaker caught sight of her, she was already close at hand. She
had been running. Now as their glances met, hers keenly inquiring of
Whitaker's still bewildered eyes, she pulled up abruptly and stood
astare. He saw, or fancied, something closely akin to fright and
consternation in her look. The flush in her cheeks gave way to a swift
pallor. The hands trembled that drew her beach-cloak close about her.
She seemed to make an ineffectual effort to speak.

On his part, Whitaker tried to get up. A keen twinge in his ankle,
however, wrung an involuntary grunt from him, and with a wry grimace he
sank back.

"Oh!" cried the woman, impulsively. "You're hurt!" She advanced a pace,
solicitous and sympathetic.

"Oh, not much," Whitaker replied in a tone more of hope than of
assurance. He felt tenderly of the injured member. "Only my
ankle--twisted it a few days ago, and now again. It'll be all right in a
moment or two."

Her gaze travelled from him to the edge of the bluff.

"I didn't see--I mean, I heard something, and turned, and saw you trying
to sit up a