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away. The beach lay bone-white in the moonlight. The hills were black cardboard shapes against a luminous sky. She longed for it to be light so that she could get up. The wild, plaintive cries of seabirds, that were the only sounds breaking the silence, seemed to echo the unfamiliar sadness in her heart.
    When she did get up the tide was running strongly into the lagoon again and the sun was just up.
    She decided to go down for a swim. She and Bernard had sometimes met very early for a dip in the lake at the Priory. She thought a swim would clear her head, muzzy from too much thinking.
    Zipping herself into her sleek black swimsuit took barely a minute. She pinned up her hair on top of her head, put on sandals and a towel wrap and slipped quietly from her room.
    Nelson, hearing her step, came to greet her, his tail a - wag.
    “Coming for a swim, boy” His ears pricked. The wagging accelerated. Evidently swim was a word he knew.
    He padded at her side as she made her way through the garden and crossed the coastal track.
    Beyond this the plateau ran out in a blunt point, carpeted with grass. Alix was amazed at the variety of brilliant wild flowers—till she remembered the reversal of the seasons, and that September is spring south of the Equator.
    She followed Nelson down a little path to the beach. A fishing boat with a coloured crew was chugging under engine towards the sea. A flock of white egrets winged up-lagoon on their own urgent business. A dinghy in which a patient figure sat, watching a line, was anchored a hundred yards from the shore.
    Otherwise, Alix and Nelson had the world to themselves.
    The air felt deliciously fresh. The lagoon was smooth as glass, dark bottle green under the hills, palest lime green near the shore. The morning light on the water was very beautiful.
    “Heaven. Come on, Nelson, swim," cried Alix, and they splashed together into the cool shallow water. They had to wade quite a way before it became deep enough for a real swim—almost as far, in fact, as the anchored fishing boat.
    Alix broke into an easy crawl and swam with her face under for a bit; and Nelson paddled effortlessly beside her, his forehead wrinkled with the anxiety of guardianship.
    Soon she turned on her back and floated, looking up dreamily at the pale morning sky.
    I ought to be thoroughly miserable, she thought; but I can’t, on such a heavenly day.
    She started and came upright, treading water, when a voice from the fishing boat called out:
    “Good morning, Alix. Enjoying your swim?”
    “Richard! What are you doing here?”
    “Fishing. What else?”
    “Have you caught any?”
    “Sure”—gaily. He held up a plump, striped fish by the tail. “Sand steenbras. Four so far. They’re very good to eat. Would you like one for your breakfast?”
    “N—no, I don’t think so, thanks.”
    She knew she shouldn’t be t alkin g to him; but how not, after he’d been so kind yesterday?
    “Do you usually fish here?” she demanded with sudden suspicion.
    He nodded. He was watching his line. “Invariably,” he asserted calmly. “My favourite spot for steenbras. You fish, of course?”
    “No.”
    “ Then I must teach you,” Richard said. “Come on, we’ll start now. Can you pull yourself aboard?”
    She had been hanging on to the gunwale by one hand as they talked, while Nelson cruised back and forth a yard or two away. Now she dropped back into the water.
    “I don’t think I’ll come, thanks, or Nelson might want to come aboard too,” she hedged.
    “Don’t go. Wait a minute,” Richard said sharply. Suddenly hi s lines had gone s izzli ng out. The tip of the rod was bent over in a quivering taut arc.
    “I’ve got somet hi ng,” he said tensely. “It’s a whopper, I think. Look, you must come aboard, Alix. I’ll want you to help me. Get in over the stem and catch hold of that landing net. Hurry up, for the love of Mike ...”
    He was playing his fish as he spoke, checking the line, reeling in, letting