that no one interfered with his pleasure, that he was, as far as he
knew, alone with the clouds that were winging their way among moonbeams
in the violet sky, and with the waves and the wind with which he held
companionship.

He had gone a mile, it might be more; he heard a step behind him. In
vain he tried to convince himself that some noise natural to the lonely
beach deceived him. In the high tide of life that the bracing air had
brought him, his senses were acute and true. He knew that he heard this
step: it was light, like a child's; it was nimble, like a fawn's;
sometimes it was very near him. He was not in the least afraid; but do
what he would, his mind could form no idea of what creature it might be
who thus attended him. No dark or fearful picture crossed his mind just
then; all its images were good.

The fleet of white clouds that were sailing in the sky rang glad changes
upon the beauty of the moonlit scene. Half a mile or more Caius walked
listening to the footstep; then he came on a wrecked boat buried in the
sand, its rim laid bare by the tide. Caius struck his foot and fell upon
it.

Striking his head, stunned for a moment, then springing up again, in the
motion of falling or rising, he knew not how, he saw the beach behind
him--the waves that were now nearing the foot of the dune, the track
between with his footsteps upon it, and, standing in this track, alert
to fly if need be, the figure of a girl. Her dress was all blown by the
wind, her curling hair was like a twining garland round her face, and
her face--ah! that face: he knew it as well as, far better than he knew
his own; its oval curves, its dimpled sweetness, its laughing eyes. Just
for such brief seconds of time as were necessary for perfect recognition
he saw it; and then, impelled by his former purpose--no time now for a
new volition--he got himself up and walked on, with his eyes in front as
before.

He thought the sea-maid did not know that he had seen her, for her
footsteps came on after his own. Or, if she knew, she trusted him not to
turn. That was well; she might trust him. Never in his life had Caius
felt less temptation to do the thing that he held to be false. He knew
now, for he had seen the whole line of the beach, that there was
nothing there for him to fear, nothing that could give any adequate
reason to any man to compel him to walk as he now walked. That did not
matter; he had given his word. In the physical exaltation of