could not be a man, for the object suddenly glided over the face of
the cliff and slid down the sheer, smooth lace like a lizard. Before I
could get a square look at it, the thing crawled into the surf--or, at
least, it seemed to--but the whole episode occurred so suddenly, so
unexpectedly, that I was not sure I had seen anything at all.

However, I was curious enough to climb the cliff on the land side and
make my way towards the spot where I imagined I saw the man. Of
course, there was nothing there--not a trace of a human being, I mean.
Something _had_ been there--a sea-otter, possibly--for the remains of
a freshly killed fish lay on the rock, eaten to the back-bone and
tail.

The next moment, below me, I saw the house, a freshly painted, trim,
flimsy structure, modern, and very much out of harmony with the
splendid savagery surrounding it. It struck a nasty, cheap note in the
noble, gray monotony of headland and sea.

The descent was easy enough. I crossed the crescent beach, hard as
pink marble, and found a little trodden path among the rocks, that led
to the front porch of the house.

There were two people on the porch--I heard their voices before I saw
them--and when I set my foot upon the wooden steps, I saw one of them,
a woman, rise from her chair and step hastily towards me.

"Come back!" cried the other, a man with a smooth-shaven, deeply lined
face, and a pair of angry, blue eyes; and the woman stepped back
quietly, acknowledging my lifted hat with a silent inclination.