shall want it just before our journey's end; not until then."

The Commandant helped her to draw in the boat, and they clambered on
board.

"But surely you don't expect me to steer!" protested Sir Ommaney,
gazing blankly around at the darkness, as Vashti directed him to take
his seat in the stern sheets.

"No, I have unshipped the rudder, and you will have nothing to do but
sit still and wonder." She snugged away the sail. "Now, will you take
bow oar or stroke?" she asked the Commandant. "Better perhaps leave me
the bow oar and the steering."

"Might one ask whither?"

"For Inniscaw, and for the landing beneath the Great House. It will
give us the farther to walk, but towards the north of the Island we
shall find ourselves in a press of boats. To be sure, no one is likely
to suspect us; it will be supposed that we are joining the search.
Still, I would rather run no risks, and the southern landing is almost
certainly deserted."

She shipped her oar; and as the Commandant set the stroke she took it
up with a will. At the fifth or sixth stroke she began to sing--not a
set song, but little trills and snatches of melody, as though health,
happiness, the joy of living, the delight of swinging to the oar in the
cool night air--these together or something compounded of them
all--filled her being and bubbled over.

"You are silent, you two." She said it almost reproachfully, pausing to
throw a glance over her shoulder and direct the steering.

"And with excuse." Sir Ommaney answered. "Who is not mute when
Mademoiselle Cara sings? And who, an hour ago, could have promised me
that I should hear her sing, in this place, beneath the stars?"

"Few will hear her any more," said Vashti, lightly. "She is tired of
the stage and thinks of marrying."

"Indeed, mademoiselle? And whom are we to congratulate? Who is it that
selfishly appropriates what was meant for mankind?"

"Faith, sir, I cannot tell you," she answered again, still in the same
light tone. "But I came, just now, to kidnap the Commandant!"

Without giving a chance of reply, she broke into singing again; the
air, _Ah, fors e lui_. It gushed from her lips like a very fountain of
happiness, irrepressible, springing towards the stars in jets and
spurts of melody, falling with a ripple in which the music of the stars
themselves seemed to echo; almost in the moment of its fall rising
again, as though it panted with joy--not with weariness, for the spirit
of it cal