steep cliffside to the cave on the left of the bay, where, guarded by
the faithful Ponto, I was accustomed to disrobe; and soon afterwards I
came out, my dark hair over my shoulders and blue twill over a portion
of the rest of me, to climb out to the point of the projecting rocks,
so that I might dive gracefully and safely into the still blue water.

I was a good swimmer. I reached the ridge on the opposite side of the
bay without fatigue, not changing from a powerful breast-stroke. I then
sat for a while at the water's edge to rest and to drink in the
thrilling glory of what my heart persisted in telling me was the
morning of my life.

And then I saw Him.

Not distinctly, for he was rowing a dinghy in my direction, and
consequently had his back to me.

In the stress of my emotions and an aggravation of modesty, I dived
again. With an intensity like that of a captured conger I yearned to be
hidden by the water. I could watch him as I swam, for, strictly
speaking, he was in my way, though a little farther out to sea than
I intended to go. As I drew near, I noticed that he wore an odd garment
like a dressing-gown. He had stopped rowing.

I turned upon my back for a moment's rest, and, as I did so, heard a
cry. I resumed my former attitude, and brushed the salt water from my
eyes.

The dinghy was wobbling unsteadily. The dressing-gown was in the bows;
and he, my sea-god, was in the water. Only for a second I saw him. Then