The mystery of the sea was in her eyes. Unfathomable green depths. Eyes that had seen things he had never seen; things queer, unnatural to him. But her youth was there; her human womanhood. It glowed eager, yet afraid; it met him, and it understood him, strange though he must have been to her. I think also, that first night, she tried to talk with him. He understood at least, her desire to learn his words. And presently he began teaching her. There are other fragmentary pictures I can give. The dawn flushed the east, and it seemed to frighten her. She moved away from Arturo. But he followed. She came to a sort of cave entrance; it lay part way down the rocky slope from which the ocean had so recently receded, and was still partly filled with water. She slipped into it. Ah, then he must have been struck with her strangeness anew! She lay in the water relaxed; a familiarity with it, as though she scarce had remarked that it was water and not the land. It was not very deep, a few feet, lying in a passage which seemed to run back into what perhaps was a dark cave here in the rocks. Arturo waded in after her; and as she stood up, for the first time, she touched him. Her fingers were warm and human. Her touch pushed him away. She slid again into the water and with a silent swimming stroke, was gone back into the darkness. * * * * * The sunrise came full. Arturo was very tired. He ate, and slept. He went that midday, to the cave entrance. No sign of her. He wondered if he should go in, and at last he started. But there was a place where the passage ended. The water stood waist-deep and touched the lowering ceiling. She had evidently gone under it. Or had she left the island? He returned outside. Down the slope he saw the rounded top of her globe. The high tide had brought the ocean pounding over it; the sea was rougher this day. But her globe was still there. She had not gone. She came out again when night had fully fallen. He found then that it was the daylight which frightened her; blinded her. She let him follow her into the cave that second night. She swam so humanly graceful and yet with a natural grace surpassing what we call human. It was only a few feet underwater, where the passage roof chanced to bend down. Arturo was by all our earthly standards, a good swimmer. He followed her. She had in the small cave her own supply of food and fresh water, brought from her globe. She seemed able to see, in that degree of darkness. But Arturo had to go back to his plane and bring a small vacuum bulb; he kept it shaded from her. They ate together--food unknown to Arturo. They laughed together, tried to talk. He went out and brought his own food from the plane, and let her taste it.