And then I saw Him. Not distinctly, for he was rowing a dinghy in my direction, and consequently had his back to me. In the stress of my emotions and an aggravation of modesty, I dived again. With an intensity like that of a captured conger I yearned to be hidden by the water. I could watch him as I swam, for, strictly speaking, he was in my way, though a little farther out to sea than I intended to go. As I drew near, I noticed that he wore an odd garment like a dressing gown. He had stopped rowing. I turned upon my back for a moment's rest, and, as I did so, heard a cry. I resumed my former attitude, and brushed the salt water from my eyes. The dinghy was wobbling unsteadily. . . .