Then he started, and a little thrill ran through him as he wondered whether it was a trick his eyes had played him or he saw her in the flesh. She stood close beside him, with a grey cedar trunk behind her, in a long trailing dress, but the white hat was in her hand now, and the little shapely head bared to the cooling touch of the dew. Still, she had materialized so silently out of the shadows that he almost felt afraid to move lest she should melt into them again, and he lay very still, watching her until she glanced at him. Then he sprang, awkwardly, to his feet, with a little smile.
"I would scarcely venture to tell you what I thought you were, but it is in one respect consoling to find you real," he said.
"Why?" said the girl.
"Because you are not likely to vanish again. You must remember that I first saw you clothed in white samite, with the moon behind your shoulder, in the river."
The girl laughed. "I wonder if you know what white samite is?"
"I don't," said Brooke, reflectively. "I never did, but it seems to go with water lapping on the rocks and mystery. Still, you—are—material, fortunately."
"Very," said Barbara. "Besides, I certainly did not bring you a sword."
Brooke appeared to consider. "One can never be quite certain of anything—especially in British Columbia. But how did you come here?"
The girl favored him with a comprehensive glance, which Brooke felt took in his well-worn jean, coarse blue shirt, badly-rent jacket, and shapeless hat.
"I was about to ask you the same thing. It was in Vancouver I saw you last," she said.