With a sudden rush of crimson to her face she was about to beat a retreat when Yorke started slightly, opened his eyes, and stared up at her.
The next instant he was off the breakwater and on his feet.
"By George!" he exclaimed, with a bated breath. "It is you, Miss Lisle!"
"Yes, it is I," said Leslie as calmly and composedly as she could, and from the effort for composure her voice sounded rather cold.
"I beg your pardon. Of course it is. But——," he hesitated a moment. "Well, the fact is, I was dreaming about you——." He stopped, as if he were afraid he had given offense.
But Leslie smiled.
"It must have been an uncomfortable dream," she said, glancing at the breakwater.
"No," he said. "I was never more comfortable in my life. I'm more used to roughing it than you'd think. I suppose it was the beauty of the night that tempted you as it tempted me?" he went on, with his frank eyes on her face.
Leslie looked down. She could not ask him the question she had put to the supposed fisherman—if he had found her ring, of course, he would give it to her.