so heavy."

Sylvia's wide gaze rested on the mill, and she pressed her hand to her
breast.

"Why, that's easily done," responded Dunham consolingly. "Just let
Thinkright give me an axe, and I'll tickle that old pessimist's ribs
until its eyes fly open and it giggles from its roof to its rickety old
legs."

Sylvia shook her head. "No. Force would only do harm. Love must open
the shutters."

"Love?" repeated John, staring at the speaker.

She nodded. "Yes, the same thing that opened mine."

He continued to regard her. "Do you know, you're a very odd girl," he
said at last.

"No," she replied.

"To talk about Love opening those weather-beaten, rusty old blinds. How
could it?"

"I don't know; but it will. I feel that it will. You will see." She
gave a strange little smile, and Dunham regarded her uneasily.

For the first time it occurred to him that she might be unbalanced. In
that revealing Look which he had surprised a while ago she seemed to
have given herself to him. He had been strangely conscious of
proprietorship in her, a sort of responsibility for her, ever since. By
his strategy he had secured her unconsciousness of discovery, and thus
given himself time.

She kept her eyes fixed on the shore they were approaching, and he
continued to regard her furtively, from time to time.

"We can get into the Basin now, can't we, Benny?" she called to their
forgotten boatman.

"Easy," he responded. "Suppose ye'll be comin' out afore eight
o'clock."

"Well,--Mr. Dunham will," responded Sylvia slowly.

"And Miss Lacey also, of course," added John. According to the
programme laid down by the Idea, Sylvia had an unfulfilled engagement
on Hawk Island. She had yet to administer to him the contents of the
black bottle, reinforced by the ingredient contained in the flat white
bag. How with any consistency could she remain at the Mill Farm?

John flung back his head in a silent laugh and passed his hand across
his forehead. The boat sailed toward the Tide Mill and under its cold
shadow into the smiling, alluring Basin.

It seemed to Sylvia that months had passed since last those white birch
stems had leaned toward her and waved green banners of welcome. "Ah.
Listen!" she exclaimed. A tuneful jangle as of melodious bells fell on
the quiet air, and then, like the clear tones of a silver flute, this
phrase:--

[Illustration: Bar of music]

"What is it?" whispered John, meeting Sylvia's eyes suddenly alight
with