spirituous liquors, but acting on
the brain in precisely the same way. Mr Goldsworthy, already uplifted
by good Redford wine, felt the effect of the lovely night in dim poetic
stirrings of his sordid little soul. He mused of God and heaven, and
the other things that he made sermons out of, in a disinterested,
unprofessional way, these being the lines along which his imagination
worked. "Surely the Lord is in this place," was the unspoken thought,
elevating and inspiring, with which he surveyed the placid lake and the
dreaming hills; and "it is good for me to be here," he felt, even at
the cost of a Redford bed and breakfast, and the choice vegetables that
the gardener would have put into his buggy in the morning.

But what was this? A boat adrift! From out of the shadow of the white
shed on the further shore a black spot moved--one of the boats that
should have been locked up, since no one was allowed to use them
without Mr Pennycuick's permission. It came into the open moonlight,
into the middle of that silver mirror, and he saw that oars propelled
it, and saw the figure of the person wielding them. Who had dared to
take this liberty with sacred Redford property? he wondered, with the
indignation of a co-proprietor; and he assumed a poacher after the fish
that Mr Pennycuick had been trying with characteristic perseverance and
unsuccess to naturalise in his dam. But looking harder, the clergyman
saw the figure rise in the boat, and that it was a woman's. Almost at
the same instant he saw that it had disappeared. Seizing whip and
reins, he lashed his mare to a gallop along the embankment and down its
steep side, where she nearly upset him, and round the lake shore--the
buggy rocking like a cradle--to the point nearest to the boat, now
visibly adrift and empty. He jumped to the ground, tore off his coat
and vest (which had a valuable watch attached), flinging them and his
hat, and presently his boots, into the buggy; and with a word of
warning to the mare, he plunged into the water to the rescue of some
poor fool whom as yet he had not identified.

He returned to shore with Mary Pennycuick in his arms. Spent and
panting from his struggle, and awed by the tragical significance of the
affair, his heart exulted at his deed. He thanked God that he had been
in time--with a fervour proportionate to her rank and consequence--and
anticipated the splendid reward awaiting him as the benefactor of the
great family, entitled to thei