Jeanne of the Marshes. E. Phillips Oppenheim

in the village," he answered, "and my name is Andrew."

      "Are you a fisherman?" she asked.

      "Certainly," he answered gravely. "We are all fishermen here."

      She was not altogether satisfied. He spoke to her easily, and without any sort of embarrassment. His words were civil enough, and yet he had more the air of one addressing an equal than a villager who is able to be of service to some one in an altogether different social sphere.

      "It was very fortunate for me," she said, "that you saw me. Are you up at this hour every morning?"

      "Generally," he answered. "I was thinking of fishing, higher up in the reaches there."

      "I am sorry," she said, "that I spoiled your sport."

      He did not answer at once. He, in his turn, was looking at her. In her tailor-made gown, short and fashionably cut, her silk stockings and high-heeled shoes, she certainly seemed far indeed removed from any of the women of those parts. Her dark hair was arranged after a fashion that was strange to him. Her delicately pale skin, her deep grey eyes, and unusually scarlet lips were all indications of her foreign extraction. He looked at her long and searchingly. This was the girl, then, whom his brother was hoping to marry.

      "You are not English," he remarked, a little abruptly.

      She shook her head.

      "My father was a Portuguese," she said, "and my mother French. I was born in England, though. You, I suppose, have lived here all your life?"

      "All my life," he repeated. "We villagers, you see, have not much opportunity for travel."

      "But I am not sure," she said, looking at him a little doubtfully, "that you are a villager."

      "I can assure you," he answered, "that there is no doubt whatever about it. Can you see out yonder a little house on the island there?"

      She followed his outstretched finger.

      "Of course I can," she answered. "Is that your home?"

      He nodded.

      "I am there most of my time," he answered.

      "It looks charming," she said, a little doubtfully, "but isn't it lonely?"

      He shrugged his shoulders.

      "Perhaps," he answered. "I am only ten minutes' sail from the mainland, though."

      She looked again at the house, long and low, with its plaster walls bare of any creeping thing.

      "It must be rather fascinating," she admitted, "to live upon an island. Are you married?"

      "No!" he answered.

      "Do you mean that you live quite alone?" she asked.

      He smiled down upon her as one might smile at an inquisitive child. "I have a ser—some one to look after me," he said. "Except for that I am quite alone. I am going to set you ashore here. You see those telegraph posts? That is the road which leads direct to the Hall."

      She was still looking at the island, watching the waves break against a little stretch of pebbly beach.

      "I should like very much," she said, "to see that house. Can you not take me out there?"

      He shook his head.

      "We could not get so far in this punt," he said, "and my sailing boat is up at the village quay, more than a mile away."

      She frowned a little. She was not used to having any request of hers disregarded.

      "Could we not go to the village," she asked, "and change into your boat?"

      He shook his head.

      "I am going fishing," he said, "in a different direction. Allow me."

      He stepped on to land and lifted her out. She hesitated for a moment and felt for her purse.

      "You must let me recompense you," she said coldly, "for the time you have lost in coming to my assistance."

      He looked down at her, and again she had an uncomfortable sense that notwithstanding his rude clothes and country dialect, this man was no ordinary villager. He said nothing, however, until she produced her purse, and held out a little tentatively two half-crowns.

      "You are very kind," he said. "I will take one if you will allow me. That is quite sufficient. You see the Hall behind the trees there. You cannot miss your way, I think, and if you will take my advice you will not wander about in the marshes here except at high tide. The sea comes in to the most unexpected places, and very quickly, too, sometimes. Good morning!"

      "Good morning, and thank you very much," she answered, turning away toward the road.

      Cecil de la Borne was standing at the end of the drive when she appeared, a telescope in his hand. He came hastily down the road to meet her, a very slim and elegant figure in his well-cut flannel clothes, smoothly brushed hair, and irreproachable tie.

      "My dear Miss Jeanne," he exclaimed, "I have only just heard that you were out. Do you generally get up in the middle of the night?"

      She smiled a little half-heartedly. It was curious that she found herself contrasting for a moment this very elegant young man with her roughly dressed companion of a few minutes ago.

      "To meet with an adventure such as I have had," she answered, "I would never go to bed at all. I have been nearly drowned, and rescued by a most marvellous person. He brought me back to safety in a flat-bottomed punt, and I am quite sure from the way he stared at them that he had never seen open-work stockings before."

      "Are you in earnest?" Cecil asked doubtfully.

      "Absolutely," she answered. "I was walking there among the marshes, and I suddenly found myself surrounded by the sea. The tide had come up behind me without my noticing. A most mysterious person came to my rescue. He wore the clothes of a fisherman, and he accepted half a crown, but I have my doubts about him even now. He said that his name was Mr. Andrew."

      Cecil opened the gate and they walked up towards the house. A slight frown had appeared upon his forehead.

      "Do you know him?" she asked.

      "I know who he is," he answered. "He is a queer sort of fellow, lives all alone, and is a bit cranky, they say. Come in and have some breakfast. I don't suppose that any one else will be down for ages."

      She shook her head.

      "I will send my woman down for some coffee," she answered. "I am going upstairs to change. I am just a little wet, and I must try and find some thicker shoes."

      Cecil sighed.

      "One sees so little of you," he murmured, "and I was looking forward to a tete-a-tete breakfast."

      She shook her head as she left him in the hall.

      "I couldn't think of it," she declared. "I'll appear with the others later on. Please find out all you can about Mr. Andrew and tell me."

      Cecil turned away, and his face grew darker as he crossed the hall.

      "If Andrew interferes this time," he muttered, "there will be trouble!"