To the last day of her life, Jess is thankful to him that he turned to the rosebush and began gathering roses, cutting them off with his silver penknife; and, as he cut each one, slitting off the thorns. Jess never knew how she seized upon that moment of time to replace her shoes and stockings, wet though they were, and the next moment, when he faced about, instead of seeing the slender, brown feet among the green grasses, which he had been so eagerly admiring, he noted that they were now clothed; and he noted, too, that the girl’s face, as her eyes followed the direction of his gaze, was covered with confused blushes. Handing her the roses, he said: “Shall we saunter over the hills, or shall I take you for a little sail on a miniature lake which lies down in yonder valley?” “Neither. I--I am going back to the house,” she answered, a little hesitatingly, “to--to unpack some books which I promised Mrs. Bryson I would read a little of every morning.” “The books and reading can wait for an hour or two,” he urged. “This is too fine a morning to waste indoors. This is October, you know, and even in this sunny, Southern clime, it will not remain for long as delightful as it is to-day.” The quiet mastery in his voice seemed to exercise a spell over her which she was powerless to shake off or combat, and when he led the way down the path, her feet involuntarily led her along in his wake. It was but a short walk to the lake, and when they reached it, bathed as it was in the crimson light of the rising sun, Jess was enraptured at the beautiful sight which it presented, and with the glorious white water lilies which swayed to and fro on its glassy bosom, and the tiny, white boats moored here and there along its flower-bordered banks. “I will go out for a row with you, if I may gather some of the lilies!” cried Jess, enthusiastically. “Oh, how beautiful they are--and, see, there is a bed of pink ones farther out.” “The lilies are fair to look upon, but they are unattainable,” her companion answered, gravely. “They have cost every one who ventures near enough to lay hands on them their life. It appears that in their vicinity is an underground whirlpool, which draws down beneath the water’s surface, and probably far down into the depths of the lake, all who come within its reach. Therefore, I repeat, that one can admire the lilies, but they cannot be gathered.” “The longing for them, while they are in my sight, and so near, will spoil the pleasure of the row on the water,” said Jess. “You are like the moth who would flutter around the flame, although it knows that therein lies danger, a singed wing, perhaps death,” he said, slowly. “The lilies are not worth such a sacrifice.” “I should not mind making it to possess them,” declared Jess, very coolly. “I should like to gather them, and surprise the folks at the farmhouse by wearing them in to breakfast in my hair and in my belt.” An expression of deep annoyance crossed his fine face.