astered her brain for the time. Perhaps she
would not have woke up in a maze from a dream that was not less a
dream because she was not sleeping even if some unwary utterance
caused her to ask what manner of man this could be.

But that can never be known, since Cynthia herself never knew. The
one sharp and clear fact that remained in her mind as a memory
of a summer's evening passed in a boat on a river flowing through
fairyland, was provided by a set of circumstances far removed from
tales of stormy night-riding after De Wet or the warp and weft of
European politics as they fashioned the cere-cloths of the two Dutch
republics.

Neither the one nor the other should be blamed if they found a boat on
the Wye a most pleasant exchange for an eager automobile on roads that
tempted to high speed. At any rate, they gave no heed to the time
until Cynthia happened to glance at the horizon and saw that the sun
was represented by a thin seam of silver hemming the westerly fringe
of a deep blue sky. If there was a moon, it was hidden by the hills.

"Whatever o'clock is it?" she cried in a voice that held almost a
sound of scare.

Medenham looked at his watch, and had to hold it close to his eyes
before he could make out the hour.

"Time you were back at the hotel," he said, swinging the boat round
quickly. "I am afraid I have kept you out too long, Miss Vanrenen. It
is a perfect night, but you must not risk catching a chill----"

"I'm not worrying about that sort of chill--there are others: what
will Mrs. Devar think?"

"The worst," he could not help saying.

"What time is it, really?"

"Won't you be happier not to know? We have the stream with us now----"

"Mr. Fitzroy--what time is it?"

"Nearly half-past ten o'clock. You did not leave the hotel till after
half-past eight."

"Oh, blame me, of course. 'The woman tempted me and I did eat.'"

"No, no. Apples are not the only forbidden fruit. May I vary an
unworthy defense? The woman came with me and I didn't care."

"But I do care. Please hurry. Mrs. Devar will be real mad, and I
shan't have a word to say for myself."

Medenham bent to it, and the outrigger traveled downstream at a
rare pace. Cynthia steered with fair accuracy by the track they
had followed against the current, but the oarsman glanced over his
shoulder occasionally, and advised her as to the probable trend of
the channel.

"Keep a bit wide here," he said when they were approaching a sharp
bend