continued to think of her, and recalled her voice, which struck him now
as having been at once melodious and childlike, and wished he had at
least spoken, and perhaps elicited a reply.
He did not, however, haunt the sweat-house near the river again. Yet he
still continued his lessons with Jim, and in this way, perhaps, although
quite unpremeditatedly, enlisted a humble ally. A week passed in which
he had not alluded to her, when one morning, as he was returning from a
row, Jim met him mysteriously on the beach.
"S'pose him come slow, slow," said Jim gravely, airing his newly
acquired English; "make no noise--plenty catchee Indian maiden." The
last epithet was the polite lexicon equivalent of squaw.
Pomfrey, not entirely satisfied in his mind, nevertheless softly
followed the noiselessly gliding Jim to the lighthouse. Here Jim
cautiously opened the door, motioning Pomfrey to enter.
The base of the tower was composed of two living rooms, a storeroom and
oil-tank. As Pomfrey entered, Jim closed the door softly behind him.
The abrupt transition from the glare of the sands and sun to the
semi-darkness of the storeroom at first prevented him from seeing
anything, but he was instantly distracted by a scurrying flutter and
wild beating of the walls, as of a caged bird. In another moment
he could make out the fair stranger, quivering with excitement,
passionately dashing at the barred window, the walls, the locked door,
and circling around the room in her desperate attempt to find an egress,
like a captured seagull. Amazed, mystified, indignant with Jim, himself,
and even his unfortunate captive, Pomfrey called to her in Chinook to
stop, and going to the door, flung it wide open. She darted by him,
raising her soft blue eyes for an instant in a swift, sidelong glance of
half appeal, half-frightened admiration, and rushed out into the open.
But here, to his surprise, she did not run away. On the contrary, she
drew herself up with a dignity that seemed to increase her height, and
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