He heard nothing but the rustling of the foliage and the sop of the waves on the shore, as the tide crept up the shingle.

As his eyes roved in every direction, he caught sight of something white near the foot of a withered cypress-tree, not fifty yards from where he stood.

He approached the bushes in which the tree was partially concealed on that side, and quickly recognized a portion of Helen's dress.

He ran toward her--burst through the underwood, and gained the inclosure.

She was sitting there, asleep, as he conjectured, her back leaning against the trunk.