even more at her
ill-suppressed exultation when she realised that the migration was
settled. But, she concluded, there was no accounting for the vagaries
of the girl-brain, and dismissed the subject. Of the deep and
passionate maturity of Anne Percy's brain, of the reasons for the
alternate terror and delight at the prospect of visiting Nevis, she
had not a suspicion. If she had she would have hastened to leave her
to the roar of the North Sea and the wild voices of the moor.

CHAPTER III

Anne, free of the tight gown in which she had encased her rebellious
form for the benefit of the fine folk of Bath House, wrapped herself
in a long black mantle, drew down the curving glass globes that
protected the candles from draught and insects, and stepped out upon
her balcony. She even closed the window behind her; and then at last
she felt that she was indeed on Nevis--and alone. Before her rose the
dark cone of the old volcano, its graceful sweep dim against the
background of stars; and the white cloud that ever floated about its
summit like the ghost of dead fires was crawling down the slopes to
the little town at its base. From this small but teeming capital came
fitful sounds of music and of less decorous revelry, and its lights
seemed to flit through the groves of palm and cocoanut trees, gently
moving in the night breeze.

Below the hotel, no man stirred. Anne stood with suspended breath and
half closed eyes. At this end of the island it was as still as death
and almost as dark. There was no moon, and the great crystal stars
barely defined the mountain and the tall slender shafts and high
verdure of the royal palm. Far away she saw a double row of lights
on St. Kitts, the open windows doubtless of Government House in the
capital, Basseterre, where a ball that had taken half the guests of
Bath House was in progress.

In a few moments she became aware of other impressions besides the
silence and the dark. The air was so warm, so caressing, so soft, that
she swayed slightly as if to meet it. The deep delicious perfumes of
tropical blooms, even of tree and shrub, would have been overpowering
had it not been for the lightness of the air and the constant though
gentle wind. Bred upon harsh salt winds, living a life of Spartan
simplicity, where the sprigs of lavender in the linen closet wafted
all she knew of scent to her eager nostrils, this first moment of
tropical pleasure confused itself with the dreams of year