enough to hold back that passion which I sensed in him because he believed that I was a woman whose wish was to be respected.
Love between us had to be perfect. No furtive affair in an old canoe because the mist had thrown us together. I loved him more for understanding.
I had no idea of the time but it must have been the early hours of the morning when the mist lifted. I was cramped. He helped me out of the canoe.
"It's quite clear now," he said. "You can see Cariba."
"We're very close," I replied.
I lifted my face to his and he kissed me.
"Thank you," I said. "I shall never forget this night. It will be one of my most precious memories."
"We'll come back every year we're here. We'll even come back and see the old place after we've settled in England."
"I wonder," I said.
"No need to wonder. It's a promise."
"Who can say?"
"I say," he said.
"And you are always right?"
He had returned to his old self, but I thought I had seen a new side to his nature on this night. And I loved him all the more for it.
I sat in the boat. He was smiling at me. He produced the hairpins from his pocket.
"I like it flowing," he said, "but I think you look more decorous with it up."
I took the pins from him while he took the oars and rowed us back to Cariba.
FIRE IN CARIBA
Everyone thought we had stayed the night at Magda's plantation. The mist provided a good reason for our doing so. Felicity had been anxious at first but had been reassured and I was relieved that next morning there appeared to be no undue excitement about the matter. Perhaps there was a little more surreptitious giggling, but I refused to notice it.
Felicity seemed a little better. We breakfasted together. I told her about Magdas plantation and she showed a little interest which was rare with her. I fancied she was coming out of her listlessness which was a move in the right direction.
I liked to watch the ship come in from Sydney and I would sit on the terrace waiting for it. There was always a great deal of bustle and excitement even though it was a regular occurrence. The waterfront was noisier than ever and there was general congestion among all the bullock carts and the people who had come from their houses with produce to sell.
It was becoming a familiar scene to me. I felt that I was indeed part of the island. Memories of the previous night were still with me and I was there, in my imagination, lying in that canoe with Milton. I treasured the memory because I believed he had shown that he truly loved me. It would not have been impossible for him to have overcome my scruples but he had not done so.
Then I began to think of Raymond and more perhaps of Magnus Perrensen. He aroused such strange emotions in me. He seemed remote; even his speech was a little archaic. If he had told me he was really that Magnus Perrensen, born again, I think I should have been ready to believe him.
The ship had arrived. People were coming ashore. Idly I watched, my thoughts elsewhere.
Then suddenly I was startled. It could not be. I must be dreaming. I had surely imagined it. But it was! Raymond was stepping out of one
of the little launches which rowed people ashore from the ship. I stared. It must be someone who looked like him. People had doubles and one could be mistaken ... especially from a little distance.
I left the hotel and ran down to the waterfront expecting the figure to turn into someone else as I approached.
But the nearer I came the more certain I was that I had not been mistaken.
"Raymond!" I cried.
He put down the bag he was carrying and looked straight at me.
I ran to him and he caught me in his arms. "Annalice!"
"Raymond! Oh ... Raymond! It is really you."
"I've come to see you ... and Felicity," he said.
"Oh Raymond, what a surprise! Why didn't you let us know? We didn't expect... It's such a surprise."
"I had made up my mind to come when you left," he said. "It was just a matter of arranging a few things. It was a business trip you see. I had to see people in Sydney."
"Why didn't you tell us?"
"Letters take so long. I have written as a matter of fact."
"Where to?"
"Australia."
"We left there some time ago. So you don't know what's happened. Did you get my letters?"
"I received one which arrived just as I was setting out. Something was wrong. Felicity was unhappy. The marriage wasn't a success. You told me that. I heard in Sydney that you and Felicity had taken the ship to Cariba."
"Oh Raymond, there is so much to tell. You will stay at this hotel."
"Where is Felicity?"
"She is here. She has been ill... very ill."
"111?" he said with alarm.
"She's getting better, I think. Raymond, I must tell you all about it before you see her. She is not herself. She came near to a breakdown. It was all that she suffered in Australia. You haven't heard about her husband's death? I suppose you wouldn't in England. It was in the Sydney papers."
"My dear Annalice, what is all this about? It is so good to see you. I have missed you so much."
"And you were planning to come out all the time."
"I wasn't sure. It was a matter of business. I didn't want to say I should be following you and then find it didn't happen."
"Where is your luggage?"
"They're bringing it ashore."
"I'll go and book you a room in the hotel while you see to it. And I do want to talk to you before you see Felicity."
"Is it as bad as that?"
"It's very bad. But she is improving. I'll go at once and see about the room. Get them to bring your luggage to the hotel. I've got to talk to you."
"It sounds so mysterious."
"Raymond ... this is such a surprise. I'm so glad you're here."
He took my hand and kissed it. Then I left him and ran into the hotel. Rosa booked a room with an excited giggle. A friend of mine and Mrs. Granville had come. A gentleman. She found that of great interest and I could see was eager to impart the news to her colleagues.
When Raymond had his room and his baggage had been taken up I took him onto the terrace and called for a drink.
Then I told him everything, the marriage, the character of William Granville which had rapidly emerged, the terrible ordeal to which Felicity had been submitted, culminating in the shooting on the balcony.
"Poor child," he said. "How she must have suffered!"
"It is not surprising that she became a little ... unbalanced."
"She is such a gentle creature ... so carefully brought up and to go to such a brute."
"It was very unfortunate. She should never have agreed to marry him in the first place."
"I expect she wanted the excitement of travel."
"I don't think that was all," I said.
"When can I see her?"
"I think you had better come to her room."
He rose with alacrity and followed me upstairs.
I had asked Raymond to wait outside for a moment and I went into her room. She was sitting at her window idly looking out on the scene below.
"Felicity," I said. "Someone is here to see you."
She started up. I don't know what she expected. The ghost of William Granville? Mrs. Maken? Someone from the past. I said quickly: "It is Raymond Billington."
"Raymond! It can't be!"
He was in the room. She looked at him wonderingly and the joy in her face moved me deeply.
"Raymond," she cried and ran to him.
He took her into his arms.
She cried: "It isn't really you. I'm dreaming."
"I'm here all right," he said. "I've come here to look after you... you and Annalice."