White looked mysteriously about the room as though to be sure that no one was listening. ‘She is constantly thinking of you,’ I said. It was she! The Dawn Pearl! He vaulted the veranda rail, careless now whether or not he was heard, and ran down to the beach. He did not look up, so he did not know that in her other hand she held a glass of wine. He fancied that the turnkeys had discovered his flight and were in pursuit of him,—that they had climbed up the chimney,—entered the Red Room,— tracked him from door to door, and were now only detained by the gate which he had left unbroken in the chapel.
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