His retreat was as sudden, unreasoning, and unpremeditated as his intrusion. It was not like himself, he knew, and yet it was as perfectly instinctive and natural as if he had intruded upon a sister. In the South Seas he had seen native girls diving beside the vessels for coins, but they had provoked no such instinct as that which possessed him now. More than that, he swept a quick, wrathful glance along the horizon on either side, and then, mounting a remote hillock which still hid him from the beach, he sat there and kept watch and ward. From time to time the strong sea-breeze brought him the sound of infantine screams and shouts of girlish laughter from the unseen shore; he only looked the more keenly and suspiciously for any wandering trespasser, and did not turn his head. He lay there nearly half an hour, and when the sounds had ceased, rose and made his way slowly back to the cabin. He had not gone many yards before he heard the twitter of voices and smothered laughter behind him. He turned; it was Cara and the child,--a girl of six or seven. Cara's face was rosy,--possibly from her bath, and possibly from some shame-faced consciousness. He slackened his pace, and as they ranged beside him said, “Good-morning!” “Lord!” said Cara, stifling another laugh, “we didn't know you were around; we thought you were always 'tending your telegraph, didn't we, Lucy?” (to the child, who was convulsed with mirth and sheepishness). “Why, we've been taking a wash in the sea.” She tried to gather up her long hair, which had been left to stray over her shoulders and dry in the sunlight, and even made a slight pretense of trying to conceal the wet towels they were carrying. Jarman did not laugh. “If you had told me,” he said gravely, “I could have kept watch for you with my glass while you were there. I could see further than you.” “Tould you see US?” asked the little girl, with hopeful vivacity. “No!” said Jarman, with masterly evasion. “There are little sandhills between this and the beach.” “Then how tould other people see us?” persisted the child. Jarman could see that the older girl was evidently embarrassed, and changed the subject. “I sometimes go out,” he said, “when I can see there are no vessels in sight, and I take ray glass with me. I can always get back in time to make signals. I thought, in fact,” he said, glancing at Cara's brightening face, “that I might get as far as your house on the shore some day.” To his surprise, her embarrassment suddenly seemed to increase, although she had looked relieved before, and she did not reply. After a moment she said abruptly:-- “Did you ever see the sea-lions?” “No,” said Jarman. “Not the big ones on Seal Rock, beyond the cliffs?” continued the girl, in real astonishment. “No,” repeated Jarman. “I never walked in that direction.” He vaguely remembered that they were a curiosity which sometimes attracted parties thither, and for that reason he had avoided the spot.