sea, when you get round it, is really worth seeing."

"Yes, yes, I daresay," reluctantly turning to leave him. "I shall see it
some day."

"Look here," says the young man, very earnestly, following her as she
moves. "If you will come with me you will see it _now_. I will only be
your oarsman; I won't say a word to you unless you wish it; I won't even
_look_ at you. Think of me as a common boatman you have hired by the
hour; or, better still, don't think of me at all. With a little care you
might bring yourself to imagine I wasn't there."

"But if we met any one?" says Miss Beresford, visibly relenting.

"Impossible! There is never a soul on this stream save myself. I have
been here now every day for ten days, and never yet came upon even the
ghost of anything human."

"Very well," says Monica, though still with palpable hesitation. "Now,
remember, you have pledged yourself not to speak to me, or to look at
me." At this he fixes on her so prolonged a gaze that one may readily
understand he means it to be a last one for some time.

Then he turns aside, and, having brought his boat to her side of the
fence, holds out to her his hand. As he does this he keeps his eyes bent
upon the ground, as though determined to let her know his penance has
already begun.

"I am not in the boat yet," says Monica, with a quaint little smile,
laying her palm on his. Whereupon he looks at her again; and then, as
their eyes meet, they both laugh joyously, as youth will when it meets
youth.

Lightly she steps into his boat, and slowly, lazily, he rows her down
the little river,--flower-clad on either bank,--letting the boat drift
almost at its own sweet will.

The willows, drooping towards the water's edge, woo them as they pass;
the foolish weeds would hold them in embrace; the broad flag-flowers
would fain entwine them. But they, though loving them, go by them,
thinking their own thoughts, and wondering vaguely at the beauty of the

"Starry river-buds among the sedge,
And floating water-lilies broad and bright,
* * * * *
And bulrushes, and reeds of such deep green
As soothes the dazzled eye with sober sheen."

So far silence has been scrupulously kept. Not a word has been spoken
since they left the bank, not a look exchanged. Monica is letting her
little slender fingers trail through the water and the flat leaves of
the lilies. He, with his coat off, is pretending to row, but i