n this faint, floating fragrance that drew the flitting
brown moth by way of the quicksand, swiftly, swiftly, along the moonlit
shore travelling with mysterious certainty, irresistibly attracted?
There was no pause in its rapid progress, though the course it followed
was tortuous. It pursued, with absolute confidence, an invisible,
winding path. And ever the roar of the sea grew louder and louder.

Across the pool, carved in the blackness of the outstretched curving
scimitar of rock, there was a ledge, washed smooth by every tide, but a
foot or more above the water when the tide was out. It was inaccessible
save by way of the pool itself, and yet it had the look of a pathway cut
in the face of the Spear Point Rock. The moonlight gleamed upon its wet
surface. In the very centre of the great curving rock there was a deeper
darkness that might have been a cave.

It must have been after midnight when the little brown figure that had
flitted so securely through the quicksand came with its noiseless feet
over the tumble of rocks that lay about the pool, and the shadow that
lurked in the shadows rose up and became a man.

They met on the edge of the pool, but there was about the lesser form a
hesitancy of movement, a shyness, almost a wildness, that seemed as if
it would end in flight.

But the man remained quite motionless, and in a moment or two the
impulse passed or was controlled. Two quivering hands came forth to him
as if in supplication.

"So you are waiting!" a low voice said.

He took the hands, bending to her. The moonlight made his eyes gleam
with a strange intensity.

"I have been waiting a long time," he said.

Even then she made a small, fluttering movement backward, as if she
would evade him. And then with a sharp sob she conquered her reluctance
again. She gave herself into his arms.

He held her closely, passionately. He kissed her face, her neck, her
bosom, as if he would devour the sweetness of her in a few mad moments
of utter abandonment.

But in a little he checked himself. "You are so late, sweetheart. The
tide won't wait for us. There will be time for this--afterwards."

She lay burning and quivering against his heart. "There is tomorrow,"
she whispered, clinging to him.

He kissed her again. "Yes, there is tomorrow. But who can tell what may
happen then? There will never be such a night as this again, sweet. See
the light against that rock! It is a marvel of black and white, and I
swear