taciturn days of the passage he had noticed their reserve even
amongst themselves. The professor smoked his pipe moodily in
retired spots. Renouard had caught Miss Moorsom's eyes resting on
himself more than once, with a peculiar and grave expression. He
fancied that she avoided all opportunities of conversation. The
maiden lady seemed to nurse a grievance. And now what had he to
do?

The lights on the deck had gone out one after the other. The
schooner slept.

About an hour after Miss Moorsom had gone below without a sign or a
word for him, Renouard got out of his hammock slung in the waist
under the midship awning--for he had given up all the accommodation
below to his guests. He got out with a sudden swift movement,
flung off his sleeping jacket, rolled his pyjamas up his thighs,
and stole forward, unseen by the one Kanaka of the anchor-watch.
His white torso, naked like a stripped athlete's, glimmered,
ghostly, in the deep shadows of the deck. Unnoticed he got out of
the ship over the knight-heads, ran along the back rope, and
seizing the dolphin-striker firmly with both hands, lowered himself
into the sea without a splash.

He swam away, noiseless like a fish, and then struck boldly for the
land, sustained, embraced, by the tepid water. The gentle,
voluptuous heave of its breast swung him up and down slightly;
sometimes a wavelet murmured in his ears; from time to time,
lowering his feet, he felt for the bottom on a shallow patch to
rest and correct his direction. He landed at the lower end of the
bungalow garden, into the dead stillness of the island. There were