ng man to seek his bed
something earlier than usual.

Three mortal hours to fritter away in profitless anticipation ...

At seven Whitaker was merely nervous.

By eight he was unable to sit still.

Half an hour later the house was too small to contain him. He found his
cane and took to the veranda, but only to be driven from its shelter by
a swarm of mosquitoes attracted by the illuminated windows. Not in the
least resentful, since his ankle was occasioning him no pain whatever,
he strolled down toward the shore: not a bad idea at all--to be there to
welcome her.

The night was loud and dark. The moon was not to rise for another
half-hour, and since sundown the wind had come in from the southwest to
dissipate the immaculate day-long calm and set the waters and the trees
in motion with its urgent, animating breath. Blowing at first fitfully,
it was settling momentarily down into a steady, league-devouring stride,
strong with the promise of greater strength to come.

Whitaker reflected: "If she doesn't hurry, she won't come by boat at
all, for fear of a wetting."

He thought again: "And of course--I might've known--she won't start till
moonrise, on account of the light."

And again, analyzing the soft, warm rush of air: "We'll have rain before
morning."

He found himself at the end of the dock, tingling with impatience, but
finding some little consolation in the restless sweep of the wind
against his face and body. He stood peering up along the curve of the
shore toward the other landing-stage. He could see little--a mere
impressionistic suggestion of the shore-line picked out with the dim,
semi-phosphorescent glow of breaking wavelets. The night was musical
with the clash of rushing waters, crisp and lively above the long,
soughing drone of the wind in the trees. Eastward the barrier beach was
looming stark and black against a growing greenish pallor in the sky. A
mile to the westward, down the shore, the landlocked lighthouse reared
its tower, so obscure in gloom that the lamp had an effect of hanging
without support, like a dim yellow Japanese lantern afloat in mid-air.

Some minutes elapsed. The pallor of the east grew more marked. Whitaker
fancied he could detect a figure moving on the Fiske dock.

Then, startled, he grew conscious of the thick drone of a
heavily-powered motor boat near inshore. Turning quickly, he discovered
it almost at once: a black, vague shape not twenty yards from where he
stood,