"Anyway," Antony began, his voice still shaking, "we are on the other side of the river, and there is no bridge for two miles, certainly, and we came through a pasture to get here and so the old car is pretty safe to be under the mud by the time she could be traced. They say the bottom is mostly quicksand all about here--if we are here--for heaven's sake, what is that?" He pointed to a black rectangular object floating placidly on to shore, not ten feet from them. "It is a trunk," Nette replied excitedly, "a black, waterproof motor trunk! And a suit case behind it! And oh, see, do you see that hat box?" They held their breath as the strange squadron sailed majestically along the guiding current into their tiny port, the trunk floating high, displaying its white stenciled monogram proudly, the suit case following, the absurd little chimney-pot ducking and bobbing in the rear. Suddenly, as the suit case seemed likely to drift out again, they rushed to the bank, and while Nette dragged the trunk to shelter Antony strode into the water and gathered in the smaller craft. They were all of wicker, with a lining of oiled silk and a covering of thick waterproof rubber material, and as Nette pulled at the fastenings of the trunk and flung back the lid it was at once evident that both these shielding materials had admirably performed their office: the contents were uninjured. They looked upon a shallow tray divided into two parts. In one lay what was apparently a small, fantastically shaped cloud of palest mauve. Upon one side of this cloud there was fastened with a sort of jewel a long, soft feather of a slightly deeper tint of mauve. This feather curled caressingly about the cloud and Antony's experience instructed him that the object was quite terrestrial--was, in fact, a hat. An indistinguishable, fluffy, shimmering mass of mauve filled the other compartment, and in the cover a cunning artificer had set a fair-sized mirror, surrounded by numerous loops of leather which held brushes, combs, and other toilet accessories. As Antony regarded this collection of objects, he was aware of a long, soft sigh, and turning to his companion he beheld her bowing as in a trance before them, lost, like the persons in a well-known hymn, in wonder, love and praise. "Oh! How perfect!" she breathed, and at the picture of her, dripping and draggled, shivering and ecstasied, he shook his head in thoughtful amazement. "Now, Miss Nette," he said abruptly, "do you know what you are going to do. This is simply too extraordinary to be anything less than providential. You are going to follow me into this little shed and when I have taken the trunk there, you are going to put on everything you can find in it. If there's anything sensible enough there, please give yourself a good rub-down with it. Will you take cold with your hair wet?" he added masterfully. Either moisture or the sight of the mauve glories had taught her meekness, for: