t
exhibited none of the disturbing influence of which he had been first
conscious. Last night's mood seemed absurd.

"You are quite right," he altered his pronouncement; "we'll put the
_Gar_ in order here. People are living behind the grove, and there'll
be water."

He had, for breakfast, oranges brought down the coast, and he was
surprised at their sudden insipidity. They were little better than
faintly sweetened water. He turned and in the pocket of his flannel
coat found one of those he had picked the night before. It was as keen
as a knife; the peculiar aroma had, without doubt, robbed him of all
desire for the cultivated oranges of commerce.

Halvard was in the tender, under the stern of the ketch, when it
occurred to John Woolfolk that it would be wise to go ashore and
establish his assertion of an adequate water supply. He explained this
briefly to the sailor, who put him on the small shingle of sand. There
he turned to the right, moving idly in a direction away from that he
had taken before.

He crossed the corner of the demolished abode, made his way through a
press of sere cabbage palmettos, and emerged suddenly on the blinding
expanse of the sea. The limpid water lay in a bright rim over
corrugated and pitted rock, where shallow ultramarine pools spread
gardens of sulphur-yellow and rose anemones. The land curved in upon
the left; a ruined landing extended over the placid tide, and, seated
there with her back toward him, a woman was fishing.

It was, he saw immediately, the woman of the portico. At the moment of
recognition she turned, and after a brief inspection, slowly waved her
hand. He approached, crossing the openings in the precarious boarding
of the landing, until he stood over her. She said:

"There's an old sheepshead under here I've been after for a year. If
you'll be very still you can see him."

She turned her face up to him, and he saw that her cheeks were without
trace of color. At the same time he reaffirmed all that he felt before
with regard to the potent quality of her being. She had a lustrous
mass of warm brown hair twisted into a loose knot that had slid
forward over a broad, low brow; a pointed chin; and pale, disturbing
lips. But her eyes were her most notable feature--they were widely
opened and extraordinary in color; the only similitude that occurred
to John Woolfolk was the grey greenness of olive leaves. In them he
felt the same foreboding that had shadowed her voice. The