himself under a tree, with his “fluke” across his knee; and the peacock strutted up and down haughtily on the velvet grass. The river was all blue and gold, and a long summer swell broke upon the sandy shore. All the beauty of the scene seemed to enter into Skelton’s soul. It was exactly attuned to his feelings. He did not long for mountain heights and lonely peaks or wind-lashed waves; this sweet scene of peace and plenty was in perfect harmony with him. He was too happy to work then, but he felt within him a strange power to work within a few hours. As soon as night came he would go to the library; those long evenings of slothful dreaming and reading and painful idleness were no more; he would manage to do a full stint of work before midnight. He had written in the morning to Sylvia that he would not see her that day. He had apprehended that after his interview with Blair he might not be in the most heavenly frame of mind, but, on the contrary, he was so unexpectedly happy that he longed to go to Belfield then. But Sylvia would not be ready to see him; she would be taking a midday nap after her morning sail; he would go at his usual hour in the afternoon and surprise her. He continued to stroll about, his straw hat in his hand, that he might feel the soft south wind upon his forehead, and it reminded him of when he was a boy. How closely Lewis resembled him!--his ways, his tastes, were all the same, except healthier than his own had been. He never remembered the time when he had not withdrawn himself haughtily from his companions. Lewis was as proud and reserved as he had been, though from an altogether different motive; for with poor Lewis it was the reserve of a wounded soul. Skelton remembered well how, in his boyhood, he had lived in his boat, just as Lewis did, spending long hours lying flat in the bottom, merely exerting himself enough to keep the boat from overturning, and going far down into the bay, where the water was dark and troubled, instead of being blue and placid as it was in the broad and winding river. All day until five o’clock the beauty held. At that time Skelton came out on the stone porch to take his way across the bridge to Belfield. The sky had not lost its perfect blueness, but great masses of dense white clouds were piling up, and a low bank of dun color edged the western sky. The wind, too, was rising, and far down, beyond Lone Point, the white caps were tumbling over each other, and the wide bay was black and restless. Just as Skelton came out he saw the one snow-white sail of Lewis’s boat rounding Lone Point. Bulstrode was sitting on the porch, snuffing at the rich tea roses, and with the inevitable book in his hand; but he looked uneasy.