There was not much movement in the little channel upon which Caius was keeping watch.

The summer afternoon was all aglow upon shore and sea.

He had sat quite still for a good while, when, near the sunny island, just at the point where he had been pulled ashore on the adventurous night when he risked his life for the child, he suddenly observed what appeared to be a curious animal in the water.
There was a glistening as of a scaly, brownish body, which lay near the surface of the waves.

Was it a porpoise that had ventured so near?
Was it a dog swimming?
No, he knew well that neither the one nor the other had any such habit as this lazy basking in sunny shallows.

Then the head that was lying backwards on the water turned towards him, and he saw a human face--surely, surely it was human!--and a snow-white arm was lifted out of the water as if to play awhile in the warm air.
The eyes of the wonderful thing were turned toward him, and it seemed to chance to see him now for the first time, for there was a sudden movement, no jerk or splash, but a fish-like dart toward the open sea.
Then came another turn of the head, as if to make sure that he was indeed the man that he seemed, and then the sea-maid went under the surface, and the ripples that she left behind subsided slowly, expanding and fading, as ripples in calm waters do.
Caius stood up, watching the empty surface of the sea.