ively green water between the island and the forest shore.
Cecilia's noble schooner was sure to be out in such a ringing breeze,
for the pride of it as well as the pleasure. She landed her father at
the Club steps, and then bore away Eastward to sight a cutter race, the
breeze beginning to stiffen. Looking back against sun and wind, she
saw herself pursued by a saucy little 15-ton craft that had been in her
track since she left the Otley river before noon, dipping and straining,
with every inch of sail set; as mad a stern chase as ever was witnessed:
and who could the man at the tiller, clad cap-A-pie in tarpaulin, be?
She led him dancing away, to prove his resoluteness and laugh at him.
She had the powerful wings, and a glory in them coming of this pursuit:
her triumph was delicious, until the occasional sparkle of the tarpaulin
was lost, the small boat appeared a motionless object far behind, and
all ahead of her exceedingly dull, though the race hung there and the
crowd of sail.

Cecilia's transient flutter of coquettry created by the animating air
and her queenly flight was over. She fled splendidly and she came back
graciously. But he refused her open hand, as it were. He made as if
to stand across her tack, and, reconsidering it, evidently scorned his
advantage and challenged the stately vessel for a beat up against the
wind. It was as pretty as a Court minuet. But presently Cecilia stood
too far on one tack, and returning to the centre of the channel, found
herself headed by seamanship. He waved an ironical salute with his
sou'wester. Her retort consisted in bringing her vessel to the wind, and
sending a boat for him.

She did it on the impulse; had she consulted her wishes she would rather
have seen him at his post, where he seemed in his element, facing the
spray and cunningly calculating to get wind and tide in his favour.
Partly with regret she saw him, stripped of his tarpaulin, jump into
her boat, as though she had once more to say farewell to sailor Nevil
Beauchamp; farewell the bright youth, the hero, the true servant of his
country!

That feeling of hers changed when he was on board. The stirring cordial
day had put new breath in him.

'Should not the flag be dipped?' he said, looking up at the peak, where
the white flag streamed.

'Can you really mistake compassion for defeat?' said she, with a smile.

'Oh! before the wind of course I hadn't a chance.'

'How could you be so presumptuous as to gi