gnes, Irene, and the rest
of the party all assembled in the cool dining-room.

Soon after lunch, Lady Jane, Agnes, and Miss Frost started for Dartford,
and Irene turned and faced Hughie.

"Hughie," she said, "would you like to come for a row on the lake with
me?"

"If you wish," he replied.

He had kept his promise to Rosamund so far. He had made no further
inquiries with regard to Irene. He had tried, as he expressed it, to
wash his hands of her. He did not like her. He felt that he never could
like her. There was something to him repugnant about her. He had a kind
of uncanny feeling that she was a sort of changeling; that she could do
extraordinary, defiant, and marvelous things. Now, as she looked full up
at him, trying to steady her face, and trying to look as like an
ordinary girl as possible, he endeavored to conceal a queer sort of fear
which stole suddenly over his heart. He remembered the old stories; the
servants who shrank from her, the wild creatures that seemed to be her
constant companions, and the tricks she was capable of playing on any
one.

"I will go with you, of course," he said. "Do you want me to row?"

"No; I want you to sit in the stern and steer. Will you come? Just wait
a minute. I'll be ready in no time."

She flew upstairs, and came down in the obnoxious red dress, which she
had not worn for such a long time. It made a queer change in her, giving
her a more elf-like appearance than usual.

"Why do you wear that? It isn't pretty," said Hughie.

"Never you mind whether it is pretty or not," retorted Irene.

"Well, I'll try not; but a fellow must make remarks. You know, you look
ripping in your white dresses, and that silk thing you wear in the
evening; but I don't like that."

"Don't you? Well, I do. Anyhow, I'm going to wear it to-day while we are
having our fun on the lake. It's just a perfect day for the lake. Do you
know, there's a storm coming on."

As Irene spoke she fixed her bright eyes on the sky. It was blue over
the house; but in the distance, coming rapidly nearer and nearer, was a
terrible black cloud--a cloud almost as black as ink--and already there
were murmurs in the trees and cawings among the birds, the breeze
growing stronger and stronger--the prelude to a great agitation of
nature.

"I suppose we won't go on the lake to get drowned," said Hughie. "That
is a thunder-cloud."

"Never mind; it will be all the greater fun. I am in my red dress, and
you can put