ottomed punt, as reliable in appearance as pictures of John Bull.
I fetched her rugs from the car. She was helped into the boat, and then,
as my fate remained to be settled, I asked her in a voice soft as silk
what were her wishes in regard to her handmaiden.

"Why, you'll come with us in the boat, of course. What else did you
dream?" she replied sharply.

Down went my heart with a thump like a fish dropping off its hook. But
as I would have moved toward the pebbly beach, a champion rode to my
defence.

"Your ladyship doesn't think a load of five might disturb the balance of
the boat?" mildly suggested the chauffeur. "The usual load is two
passengers and two boatmen; and though there's no danger in the rapids
if--"

She did not give him time to finish. "Oh, very well, you must stop with
the car, Elise," said she. "It is only one inconvenience more, among
many. No doubt I can put up with it. Get me the brandy flask out of the
tea-basket."

I would have tried to scoop all the green cheese out of the moon for
her, if she had asked me, I was so delighted. And part of my joy was
mixed up with the thought that _he_ wanted me to be with him. He had
actually schemed to get me! I envied no one in the world, not even the
lovely lady of the battlement garden. He was mine for to-day, in spite
of her--so there!

Sir Samuel got into the boat, and wrapped his wife in rugs. The boatmen
pushed off. Away the flat-bottomed punt slid down the clear green
stream, the sun shining, the cascades sparkling, the strange precipices
which wall the gorge, copper-tinted in the morning light. It was the
most wonderful world; yet Lady Turnour was cackling angrily. Was she
afraid? Had she changed her mind? No, the saints be praised! She was
only burning holes in her petticoat on the brazier supplied by the
hotel! I turned away to hide a smile almost as wicked as a grin, and
before I looked round again, the swift stream had swept the boat out of
sight round a jutting corner of rock. We were safe. This time it really
_was_ our world, our car, and our everything. We didn't even need to
"pretend."

Ste. Enemie is only at the gates of the gorge--a porter's lodge, so to
speak, and in the Aigle we sped on into the fairyland of which we'd had
our first pale, moonlit peep last night. There were castles made by man,
and castles made by gnomes; but the gnomes were the better architects.
Their dwellings, carved of rock, towered out of the river to a giddy