Sounds from the land, hitherto unheard, now came strangely distinct; the cries of bathers, laughter, the muffled shock of the surf, doubled and redoubled along the sands; the barking of a dog at the water’s edge.  Clear and near sounded the ship’s bell on the Ariani; a moment’s rattle of block and tackle, a dull call, answered; and silence.  Through which, without a sound, swept a great bird with scarce a beat of its spread wings; and behind it, another, and, at exact intervals another and another in impressive processional, sailing majestically through the fog; white pelicans winging inland to the lagoons.

A few minutes later the wind, which had become fitful, suddenly grew warm.  All around him now the mist was dissolving into a thin golden rain; the land-breeze freshened, blowing through distant jasmine thickets and orange groves, and a soft fragrance stole out over the sea.

As the sun broke through in misty splendour, the young man, brooding on his oars, closed his eyes; and at the same instant his boat careened violently, almost capsizing as a slender wet shape clambered aboard and dropped into the bows.  As the boat heeled under the shock Hamil had instinctively flung his whole weight against the starboard gunwale.  Now he recovered his oars and his balance at the same time, and, as he swung half around, his unceremonious visitor struggled to sit upright, still fighting for breath.

“I beg your pardon,” she managed to say; “may I rest here?  I am—­” She stopped short; a flash of sudden recognition came into her eyes—­flickered, and faded.  It was evident to him that, for a moment, she thought she had met him before.

“Of course you may stay here,” he said, inclined to laugh.

She settled down, stretching slightly backward as though to give her lungs fuller play.  In a little while her breathing grew more regular; her eyes closed for a moment, then opened thoughtfully, skyward.

Hamil’s curious and half-amused gaze rested on her as he resumed the oars.  But when he turned his back and headed the boat shoreward a quick protest checked him, and oars at rest, he turned again, looking inquiringly at her over his shoulder.

“I am only rowing you back to the beach,” he said.

“Don’t row me in; I am perfectly able to swim back.”

“No doubt,” he returned drily, “but haven’t you played tag with Death sufficiently for one day?”

“Death?” She dismissed the grotesque suggestion with a shrug, then straightened up, breathing freely and deeply.  “It is an easy swim,” she remarked, occupied with her wet hair under the knotted scarlet; “the fog confused me; that was all.”

“And how long could you have kept afloat if the fog had not lifted?” he inquired with gentle sarcasm.  To which, adroitly adjusting hair and kerchief, she made no answer.  So he added:  “There is supposed to be a difference between mature courage and the fool-hardiness of the unfledged—­”