They were wandering down the beach, where Keith had lured her to listen to the sound of the hidden waves. At that moment Carrington loomed into view coming toward them. He seemed of giant size as he appeared, passed them, and disappeared again into the cloud behind, his voice sounding muffled as he greeted them. The Sister shrank nearer to her companion as the figure had suddenly made itself visible. "Do you know it is a wonder to me how you have ever managed to live, so far?" said Keith smiling. "But it was not far," said the little nun. "Nothing was ever far at the dear convent, but everything was near, and not of strangeness to make one afraid; the garden wall was the end. There we go not outside, but our walk is always from the lime tree to the white rosebush and back again. Everything we know there--not roar of waves, not strong wind, not the thick, white air comes to give us fear, but all is still and at peace. At night I dream of the organ, and of the orange trees, and of the doves. I wake, and hear only the sound of the great water below." "You will go back," said Keith. He had begun to pity her lately, for her longing was deeper than he had supposed. It had its roots in her very being. He had studied her and found it so. "She will die of pure homesickness if she stays here much longer," he said to Carrington, "What do you think of our writing down to that old convent and offering--of course unknown to her--to pay the little she costs them, if they will take her back?" "All right," said Carrington. "Go ahead." He was making a larger sail for his paroquet boat. "If none of you will go out in her, I might as well have all the sport I can," he said. "Sport to consist in being swamped?" Keith asked. "By no means, croaker. Sport to consist in shooting over the water like a rocket; I sitting on the tilted edge, watching the waves, the winds, and the clouds, and hearing the water sing as we rush along." Keith took counsel with no one else, not even with Melvyna, but presently he wrote his letter and carried it himself over to the village to mail. He did good deeds like that once in a while, "to help humanity," he said; they were tangible always, like the primary rocks. At length one evening the fog rolled out to sea for good and all, at least as far as the shore was concerned. In the morning there stood the light-house, and the island, and the reef, just the same as ever. Someway they had almost expected to see them altered or melted a little. "Let us go over to the reef, all of us, and spend the day," said Keith. "It will do us good to breathe the clear air, and feel the brilliant, dry, hot sunshine again." "Hear the man!" said Melvyna laughing. "After trying to persuade us all those days that he liked that sticky fog too!" "Mme. Gonsalvez, we like a lily; but is that any reason why we may not also like a rose?" "Neither of 'em grows on this beach as I'm aware of," answered Melvyna dryly.