ked in his face and laughed in her old way. It was hardly
an effort, for all at once her heart had grown light as a bubble.

"Mr. Marlboro'," she said, in the sweet natural ring of her every-day
tones and without a quiver, "these are the Blue Bluffs close above us."

The voice, the air, the meaning, made him irresolute. At the same moment
the tiller obeyed her hand, that threw out all its strength, the sails
flapped loosely across their bending brows, they went about, heading for
the little cove of still water.

"You are right," said he. "That is our home. What fiercely glad wild
dream have I had? Our home!"

The keel grated on the pebbles,--some one came dashing down the narrow
path, shoved them off, and leaped on board.

"Now, Marlboro'," said Mr. St. George, "the rudder is mine. A pretty
dance with Death have you been leading Miss Changarnier! How long do you
suppose this cockle-shell could buffet such a sea as is playing outside?
Do you fancy I can countenance such treatment of my ward? Ease that rope
a little, Miss Eloise. Here we go! What will Murray say, Marlboro', when
he sees me come sailing by with you?

"'A-sailing and a-sailing,
My love he left me sad;
A-sailing and a-sailing,
Let him come and make me glad!'"

sang Mr. St. George, and they went flying up the river.

"The south winds blow, the waters flow,
His sail is in the sun;
Though twenty storms between us go,
His heart and mine are one,"

sang Eloise, in jubilant response at her safety,--and Marlboro', fain to
follow, echoed the air they trolled.

Up the stream, this way and that, tacking and veering, past the boats
that hung on their oars and cheered them this time lustily themselves,
touching shore,--and the hunters had their boat again. Then all trooping
back across the turf, her hand in his, to the place where Marlboro's
horse waited with pawing hoofs. What a mad evening it had been! And in
the whirl of it Eloise had uttered no word to break her bonds. But
broken they must be;--in what insanity had she riveted them,--set free
this slave of his passion? His bottle-imp--had not her master once said
it?--must grow into a demon that with his wide wings would blacken the
sky. One experience of it was too much. Oh, why had nobody warned her?

Every one must have a cup of coffee to counteract the damp. Mrs. Arles
had it ready. The horse at the door gave a loud, impatient neigh. The
rider would not wait