you my hand, miss,' said Captain Jacobs.

'No--please don't touch me,' said she, ascending cautiously by sliding
one foot forward two or three inches, bringing up the other behind it,
and so on alternately--her lips compressed by concentration on the feat,
her eyes glued to the plank, her hand to the rope, and her immediate
thought to the fact of the distressing narrowness of her footing. Steps
now shook the lower end of the board, and in an instant were up to her
heels with a bound.

'O, Owen, I am so glad you are come!' she said without turning. 'Don't,
don't shake the plank or touch me, whatever you do.... There, I am up.
Where have you been so long?' she continued, in a lower tone, turning
round to him as she reached the top.

Raising her eyes from her feet, which, standing on the firm deck,
demanded her attention no longer, she acquired perceptions of the
new-comer in the following order: unknown trousers; unknown waistcoat;
unknown face. The man was not her brother, but a total stranger.

Off went the plank; the paddles started, stopped, backed, pattered in
confusion, then revolved decisively, and the boat passed out into deep
water.

One or two persons had said, 'How d'ye do, Mr. Springrove?' and looked
at Cytherea, to see how she bore her disappointment. Her ears had but
just caught the name of the head draughtsman, when she saw him advancing
directly to address her.

'Miss Graye, I believe?' he said, lifting his hat.

'Yes,' said Cytherea, colouring, and trying not to look guilty of a
surreptitious knowledge of him.

'I am Mr. Springrove. I passed Corvsgate Castle about an hour ago, and
soon afterwards met your brother going that way. He had been deceived in
the distance, and was about to turn without seeing the ruin, on account
of a lameness that had come on in his leg or foot. I proposed that
he should go on, since he had got so near; and afterwards, instead of
walking back to the boat, get across to Anglebury Station--a shorter
walk for him--where he could catch the late train, and go directly home.
I could let you know what he had done, and allay any uneasiness.'

'Is the lameness serious, do you know?'

'O no; simply from over-walking himself. Still, it was just as well to
ride home.'

Relieved from her apprehensions on Owen's score, she was able slightly
to examine the appearance of her informant--Edward Springrove--who now
removed his hat for a while, to cool himself. He was rather above her