at his heels trotted an odd half-tamed little animal, a cross between a ground-hog and a prairie-dog.
Evidently the barbarian-hunter had been called from his chase, after a plunge in some silver spring in the cool of the morning. Perhaps he had been disturbed by the ringing echoes of the thirteen ship bells which Sally's determined hand had struck, and so had hurried down from the hills to the beach to see … a ship riding at anchor in the bay, sailors cautiously exploring the underbrush, and on the shore—so still she stood—the statue of some Northern nymph!
Had he gotten to that? Was he seeing things? No, the zephyr from the waters curled the blue skirt about the slender ankles. She swayed! It was not plaster or any cold image of iron or wood, but fashioned of warm human flesh.
And the bronzed savage, with the skin and slain wild birds, in turn became as motionless as the graceful trunks of the palms that framed his picturesque figure.
Suddenly his voice rang out, perhaps a little strange from the long silences, but not in uncouth gutturals, just in honest down east Yankee.
"You—you've come!"
At the cry her hands flew out, then clutched spasmodically and flew to her breast as if something stifled her. She rocked a little where she stood, for the reaction was too violent. It required such a swift adjustment to see in the bizarre figure the clean-cut sailor-boy who had clasped her in his arms under Salthaven Light.
But before he had run three paces towards her, something within told her that all was well. The swift readjustment
