h a just quarrel, therefore I brought her
water, ay, although she feigned not to desire it. There it was for her,
let her take it if she would, or leave it if she would; and I set the
jug down by the pasty. She should not say that I had refused to fetch
her what she asked, although she had, for her own good reasons, flung my
guinea into the sea. She would come soon, then would be my hour. Yet I
would spare her; a gentleman should show no exultation; silence would
serve to point the moral.

But where was she? To say truth, I was impatient for the play to begin
and anticipation grew flat with waiting. I looked down to the shore but
could not see her. I rose and walked forward till the beach lay open
before me. Where was Barbara?

A sudden fear ran through me. Had any madness seized the girl, some
uncontrolled whim made her fly from me? She could not be so foolish. But
where was she? On the moment of the question a cry of surprise rang from
my lips. There, ahead of me, not on the shore, but on the sea, was
Barbara. The boat was twelve or fifteen yards from the beach, Barbara's
face was towards me, and she was rowing out to sea. Forgetting pasty and
jug, I bounded down. What new folly was this? To show herself in the
boat was to court capture. And why did she row out to sea? In an instant
I was on the margin of the water. I called out to her, she took no heed;
the boat was heavy, but putting her strength into the strokes she drove
it along. Again I called, and called unheeded. Was this my triumph? I
saw a smile on her face. Not she, but I, afforded the sport then. I
would not stand there, mocked for a fool by her eyes and her smile.

"Come back," I cried.

The boat moved on. I was in the water to my knees. "Come back," I cried.
I heard a laugh from the boat, a high nervous laugh; but the boat moved
on. With an oath I cast my sword from me, throwing it behind me on the
beach, and plunged into the water. Soon I was up to the neck, and I took
to swimming. Straight out to sea went the boat, not fast, but
relentlessly. In grim anger I swam with all my strength. I could not
gain on her. She had ceased now even to look where my head bobbed among
the waves; her face was lifted towards the sky. By heaven, did she in
very truth mean to leave me? I called once more. Now she answered.

"Go back," she said. "I'm going alone."

"By heaven, you aren't," I muttered with a gasp, and set myself to a
faster stroke. Bad to deal with are