James began to whistle; but Louis, taking up a volume, became engrossed beyond the power of hints, and hardly stepped aside to make way for some ladies who entered the shop.  A peremptory touch of the arm at length roused him, and holding up the book to the shopman, he put it into his pocket, seized his ash-stick, put his arm into his cousin’s, and hastened into the street.

‘Did you ever see—­’ began Jem.

’Most striking.  I did not know you had met with her.  What an idea—­ the false self conjuring up phantoms—­’

‘What are you talking of?  Did you not see her?’

‘Elizabeth Barrett.  Was she there?’

‘Is that her name?  Do you know her?’

‘I had heard of her, but never—­’

‘How?—­where?  Who is she?’

‘I only saw her name in the title-page.’

‘What’s all this?  You did not see her?’

‘Who?  Did not some ladies come into the shop?’

‘Some ladies!  Is it possible?  Why, I touched you to make you look.’

‘I thought it was your frenzy about the tide.  What now?—­’

James made a gesture of despair.  ’The loveliest creature I ever saw.  You may see her yet, as she comes out.  Come back!’

‘Don’t be so absurd,’ said Fitzjocelyn, laughing, and, with instinctive dislike of staring, resisting his cousin’s effort to wheel him round.  ‘What, you will?’ withdrawing his arm.  ’I shall put off without you, if you don’t take care.’

And, laughing, he watched Jem hurry up the sloping street and turn the corner, then turned to pursue his own way, his steps much less lame and his looks far more healthful than they had been a month before.  He reached the quay—­narrow, slippery, and fishy, but not without beauty, as the green water lapped against the hewn stones, and rocked the little boats moored in the wide bay, sheltered by a richly-wooded promontory.  ’Jem in a fit of romance!  Well, whose fault will it be if we miss the tide?  I’ll sit in the boat, and read that poem again.—­ Oh! here he comes, out of breath.  Well, Jem, did the heroine drop glove or handkerchief?  Or, on a second view, was she minus an eye?’

‘You were,’ said James, hurrying breathlessly to unmoor the boat.

‘Let me row,’ said Louis; ’your breath and senses are both lost in the fair vision.’

‘It is of no use to talk to you—­’

’I shall ask no questions till we are out of the harbour, or you will be running foul of one of those colliers—­a tribute with which the Fair Unknown may dispense.’

The numerous black colliers and lighters showed that precautions were needful till they had pushed out far enough to make the little fishy town look graceful and romantic; and the tide was ebbing so fast, that Louis deemed it prudent to spend his strength on rowing rather than on talking.

James first broke silence by exclaiming—­’Do you know where Beauchastel is?’