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“Why, I have sailed all around the rock in father’s boat,” continued Cara, with importance. “That’s the best way to see ’em, and folks from Frisco sometimes takes a sail out there just on purpose,–it’s too sandy to walk or drive there. But it’s only a step from here. Look here!” she said suddenly, and frankly opening her fine eyes upon him. “I’m going to take Lucy there to-morrow, and I’ll show you.” Jarman felt his cheeks flush quickly with a pleasure that embarrassed him. “It won’t take long,” added Cara, mistaking his momentary hesitation, “and you can leave your telegraph alone. Nobody will be there, so no one will see you and nobody know it.”

He would have gone then, anyway, he knew, yet in his absurd self-consciousness he was glad that her last suggestion had relieved him of a sense of reckless compliance. He assented eagerly, when with a wave of her hand, a flash of her white teeth, and the same abruptness she had shown at their last parting, she caught Lucy by the arm and darted away in a romping race to her dwelling. Jarman started after her. He had not wanted to go to her father’s house particularly, but why was SHE evidently as averse to it? With the subtle pleasure that this admission gave him there was a faint stirring of suspicion.

It was gone when he found her and Lucy the next morning, radiant with the sunshine, before his door. The restraint of their previous meetings had been removed in some mysterious way, and they chatted gayly as they walked towards the cliffs. She asked him frankly many questions about himself, why he had come there, and if he “wasn’t lonely;” she answered frankly–I fear much more frankly than he answered her–the many questions he asked her about herself and her friends. When they reached the cliffs they descended to the beach, which they found deserted. Before them–it seemed scarce a pistol shot from the shore arose a high, broad rock, beaten at its base by the long Pacific surf, on which a number of shapeless animals were uncouthly disporting. This was Seal Rock, the goal of their journey.

Yet after a few moments they no longer looked at it, but seated on the sand, with Lucy gathering shells at the water’s edge, they continued their talk. Presently the talk became eager confidences, and then,–there were long and dangerous lapses of silence, when both were fain to make perfunctory talk with Lucy on the beach. After one of those silences Jarman said:–

“Do you know I rather thought yesterday you didn’t want me to come to your father’s house. Why was that?”

“Because Marco was there,” said the girl frankly.

“What had HE to do with it?” said Jarman abruptly.

“He wants to marry me.”

“And do you want to marry HIM?” said Jarman quickly.

“No,” said the girl passionately.

“Why don’t you get rid of him, then?”

“I can’t, he’s hiding here,–he’s father’s friend.”

“Hiding? What’s he been doing?”

“Stealing. Stealing gold-dust from miners. I never cared for him anyway. And I hate a thief!”

She looked up quickly. Jarman had risen to his feet, his face turned to sea.

“What are you looking at?” she said wonderingly.

“A ship,” said Jarman, in a strange, hoarse voice. “I must hurry back and signal. I’m afraid I haven’t even time to walk with you,–I must run for it. Good-by!”

He turned without offering his hand and ran hurriedly in the direction of the semaphore.

Cara, discomfited, turned her black eyes to the sea. But it seemed empty as before, no sail, no ship on the horizon line, only a little schooner slowly beating out of the Gate. Ah, well! It no doubt was there,–that sail,–though she could not see it; how keen and far-seeing his handsome, honest eyes were! She heaved a little sigh, and, calling Lucy to her side, began to make her way homeward. But she kept her eyes on the semaphore; it seemed to her the next thing to seeing him,–this man she was beginning to love. She waited for the gaunt arms to move with the signal of the vessel he had seen. But, strange to say, it was motionless. He must have been mistaken.