She pondered it all with ever-deepening perplexity until a change came over the night--a wind stirred, leaves rattled, boughs soughed plaintively, the waters wakened and filled the void of silence with soft clashing. Then, shivering, Sally rose and crept back toward the house. But when she paused on the edge of the last shadow, preparatory to the dash across the moonlit space to the door, a step sounded beside her, a hand caught at her cloak. She started back with a stifled cry. "Steady!" Lyttleton's voice counselled her guardedly. "Don't make a row! Blessed if it ain't Miss Manwaring!" CHAPTER IX PICAROON Plucking peremptorily at her cloak, Lyttleton drew the girl to him and, seizing her hand, without further ceremony dragged her round the clump of shrubbery to a spot secure from observation. She submitted without a hint of resistance. But she was trembling violently, and the contact with his hand was as fire to her blood. Pausing, he stared and laughed uncertainly. "Of all people!" he said in an undertone. "I never for an instant thought of you!" Controlling her voice tolerably, she asked directly: "How did you get up again without my seeing you?" "Simply enough--by the steps of the place next door. I saw you watching me--saw your head over the edge of the landing, black against the sky--and knew I'd never know who it was, unless by strategy. So I came up the other way and cut across to head you off." He added, after a pause, with a semi-apologetic air: "What do you mean by it, anyway'?" "What--?" "Watching me this way--spying on me--?" "But I didn't mean to. I was as surprised to see you as you were, just now, to see me." "Honestly?" His eyes searched hers suspiciously. Flushing, she endeavoured to assume some little dignity--drew up, lifted her chin, resumed possession of her hand. "Of course," she said in an injured voice. "Sure Mrs.--sure nobody sent you to spy on me?" "Mr. Lyttleton!" "I want to believe you." "You've no right not to!" "But what, will you tell me, are you doing out here this time of night?" "I came out because I wanted to--I was restless, couldn't sleep." He reflected upon this doubtfully. "Funny freak," he remarked. "You're impertinent!" "I don't mean to be. Forgive me. I'm only puzzled--" "So am I puzzled," she retorted with spirit. "Suppose you tell me what you're doing out here at this time of night--down on the beach--anxious to escape notice. If you ask me, I call that a funnier freak than mine!" "Quite so," he agreed soberly; "and a very reasonable retort. Only I can't tell you. It's--er--a private matter." "So I presumed--" "Look here, Miss Manwaring; this is a serious business with me. Give me your word---" "What makes that essential? Why do you think I'd lie--to you '?"