She had walked more rapidly than she had been aware of and was shocked at her apparent unmaidenliness in approaching the house of a man, and at night, in whom she was irresistibly interested; although, to be sure, if she walked round the island, to pass his house sooner or later was inevitable. She was about to turn and hurry home, when she saw what had appeared to be a shadow detach itself from the tree in the court and approach her. She recognised Warner and stood rooted to the ground with terror. All the wild and detestable stories she had heard of him sprang to her mind in bold relief, and although she had met many a hard character when tramping her moors and felt sure of coming off best in a struggle, her strength ebbed out of her before this approaching embodiment of all mysterious vice. To fly down the beach in a hoop was impossible; besides she would look ridiculous. But what would he do! She forgot his eyes and remembered only his adventures.

But he looked anything but formidable as he came closer, and, being without a hat, bowed courteously. Under the softening rays of the moon his features looked less worn, his skin less pallid, and, perhaps because she was alone and attracted him strongly, his hang-dog air was less apparent. He even made an effort to straighten his listless shoulders as he came close enough to get a full view of the beautiful young woman, standing with uncovered head and neck in the bright light of the moon and staring at him with unaccountable apprehension.

“It is I, Miss Percy,” he said. “Have you walked ahead of your party? I have not seen anyone pass.”

“I—it is a dreadful thing to do, I know—I stepped out of the window—just to take a stroll by myself. I never seem to get a moment alone. I am so tired of hearing people chatter. I was thinking—before I knew it I was here. I must go back. My aunt will be very angry.”

“Let me get you a cloak. Your shoulders are bare and the fog will come down presently.”

He went rapidly into the house and she had her chance to flee, but she waited obediently until he returned with a long black Inverness, which he laid about her shoulders. “I shall walk home with you,” he said. “I don’t think you are quite prudent to go about alone at night. There are rough characters in the town.”

“Ah!—never again. You are very kind. I do not know why I should trouble you.”

He did not make the conventional response, and for a few moments they walked on in silence. Then, gathering confidence, as he barely looked at her and was undeniably sober, she asked abruptly: “Why have you never written of the fairy orchestra one hears every night? It is about the only phase of Nevis you have neglected.”

“The little bells? Thank you for calling my attention to it. I remember—I once thought of it. But so many other things claimed my attention, and I forgot it. I fancy I seldom hear it. But you are right; it is very lovely and quite peculiar to the West Indies. If it would please you I will write some verses about it—well—one of these days.”

“I wish you would write them while I am here.”

“I am not in the mood for writing at present.”

He spoke hurriedly, and she understood. Hunsdon had told her that he never wrote save under stimulants. Could it be possible that he had made up his mind not to drink as long as she was on Nevis? She turned to him a radiant face of which she was quite unconscious, as she replied eagerly. “Yes! We have all resolved that you shall not write a line this winter. A few months out of your life are nothing to sacrifice to people that admire and long to know you as we do. Never was a man so sought. I cannot tell you how many schemes we have already devised to get hold of you——”

“But why—in heaven’s name? I cannot help feeling the absurdity.”

“Not at all. You are the most celebrated poet of the day, and all the world loves a lion.”

“For some five years, the world of Bath House has existed without the capers of the local lion,” he responded dryly.

“Ah, but you were so determined a recluse. It takes a Lady Hunsdon to coax a lion from his cave. And, no doubt, she is the only person to come to Bath House during all these years who knew you well enough to take such a liberty. You are such an old and intimate friend of her son.”

He stole a quick glance at her, as if to ascertain were she as ignorant of his life as she pretended, but she was now successfully in the rÔle of the vivacious young woman, who, in common with the rest of the world, admired his work and was flattered to know the author.

“Don’t think that we mean to make fools of ourselves and bore you,” she added, with another radiant and somewhat anxious smile. “But now that the opportunity has come we are all so happy, and we feel deeply the compliment you have already paid us. Lady Hunsdon hopes that you will read from your works some evening——”

“Good God, no! Unless, to be sure, you have a charity entertainment. I have done that in the past and felt that the object compensated for the torture. But I am somewhat surprised to find that you are a lion hunter.”

“I don’t think I am—that is, I hardly know. You are the first great man I have ever seen. Perhaps after a season in London I shall be quite frivolous and worldly.”

“I can imagine nothing of the kind. I am not so surprised to learn that you have not yet spent a season in town.”

“Oh, yes, I am a country girl,” she said roguishly.

“Not quite that.” But he did not pursue the subject, and in a few moments they came to the gates of Bath House. He took the cloak from her shoulders. “It would exceed the bounds of decorum should I escort you further,” he said formally. “If you will hasten you will not take cold. Good night.”

She thanked him and ran up the steps and, avoiding the saloon, to her own room.

“I have begun well,” she thought triumphantly. “No one could say that I have not done my part. And if he does not drink for three months—who knows?”