visit to the sweat-house. He had learned from Jim that the house was
only used by the "bucks," or males, and that her appearance there had
been accidental. He recalled that he had had the impression that she had
been stealthily following him, and the recollection gave him a pleasure
he could not account for. But an incident presently occurred which gave
him a new idea of her relations towards him.

The difficulty of making Jim understand had hitherto prevented Pomfrey
from intrusting him with the care of the lantern; but with the aid of
the lexicon he had been able to make him comprehend its working, and
under Pomfrey's personal guidance the Indian had once or twice lit the
lamp and set its machinery in motion. It remained for him only to
test Jim's unaided capacity, in case of his own absence or illness. It
happened to be a warm, beautiful sunset, when the afternoon fog had for
once delayed its invasion of the shore-line, that he left the lighthouse
to Jim's undivided care, and reclining on a sand-dune still warm from
the sun, lazily watched the result of Jim's first essay. As the twilight
deepened, and the first flash of the lantern strove with the dying
glories of the sun, Pomfrey presently became aware that he was not the
only watcher. A little gray figure creeping on all fours suddenly glided
out of the shadow of another sand-dune and then halted, falling back on
its knees, gazing fixedly at the growing light. It was the woman he had
seen. She was not a dozen yards away, and in her eagerness and utter
absorption in the light had evidently overlooked him. He could see
her face distinctly, her lips parted half in wonder, half with the
breathless absorption of a devotee. A faint sense of disappointment came
over him. It was not HIM she was watching, but the light! As it swelled
out over the darkening gray sand she turned as if to watch its effect
around her, and caught sight of Pomfrey. With a little startled cry--the
first she had uttered--she darted away. He did not follow. A moment