He tore one open and put a section in his mouth. It was at first surprisingly bitter, and he involuntarily flung away what remained in his hand. But after a moment he found that the oranges possessed a pungency and zestful flavor that he had tasted in no others. Then he saw, directly before him, a pale, rectangular light which he recognized as the opened door of a habitation.
III
HE advanced more slowly, and a low, irregular house detached itself from the tangled growth pressing upon it from all sides. The doorway, dimly lighted by an invisible lamp from within, was now near by; and John Woolfolk saw a shape cross it, so swiftly furtive that it was gone before he realized that a man had vanished into the hall. There was a second stir on the small covered portico, and the slender, white-clad figure of a woman moved uncertainly forward. He stopped just at the moment in which a low, clear voice demanded: “What do you want?”
The question was directly put, and yet the tone held an inexplicably acute apprehension. The woman’s voice bore a delicate, bell-like shiver of fear.
“Nothing,” he hastened to assure her. “When I came ashore I thought no one was living here.”
“You’re from the white boat that sailed in at sunset?”
“Yes,” he replied, “and I am returning immediately.”
“It was like magic!” she continued. “Suddenly, without a sound, you were anchored in the bay.” Even this quiet statement bore the shadowy alarm. John Woolfolk realized that it had not been caused by his abrupt appearance; the faint accent of dread was fixed in the illusive form before him.
“I have robbed you too,” he continued in a lighter tone. “Your oranges are in my pocket.”