"I really must," she answered shyly; and then as she pulled out a tiny watch at her waist--"Oh! I am late--so late. I shall keep mother waiting and make her lose the train. What shall I do? Oh, pray, sir, be quick!" A mad hope coursed through me; I pointed to the boat and said-- "I have made it so wet. If you are late, better let me row you. Where are you going?" "To Streatley; but I cannot--" "I also am going to Streatley. Please let me row you: I will not speak if you wish it." Over her face, now so beautifully agitated, swept the rarest of blushes. "Oh no, it is not that, but I can manage quite well"--her manner gave the lie to her brave words--"and I shall not mind the wet." "If I have not offended you, let me row." "No, no." "Then I have offended." "Please do not think so." "I shall if you will not let me row." Before my persistency she wavered and was conquered. "But my boat?" she said. "I will tow it behind"--and in the glad success of my hopes I allowed her no time for further parley, but ran off for my own boat, tied the two together, and gently helped her to her seat. Was ever moment so sweet? Did ever little palm rest in more eager hand than hers in mine during that one heavenly moment? Did ever heart beat so tumultuously as mine, as I pushed the boat from under the boughs and began to row? Somehow, as we floated up the still river, a hush fell upon us. She was idly trailing her hand in the stream and watching the ripple as it broke and sparkled through her fingers. Her long lashes drooped down upon her cheek and veiled her eyes, whilst I sat drinking in her beauty and afraid by a word to break the spell. Presently she glanced up, met my burning eyes, and looked down abashed. "Forgive me, I could not help it." She tried to meet the meaning of that sentence with a steady look, but broke down, and as the warm blood surged across her face, bent her eyes to the water again. For myself, I knew of nothing to say in extenuation of my speech. My lips would have cried her mercy, but no words came. I fell to rowing harder, and the silence that fell upon us was unbroken. The sun sank and suddenly the earth grew cold and grey, the piping of the birds died wholly out, the water-flags shivered and whispered before the footsteps of night. Slowly, very slowly the twilight hung its curtains around us. Swiftly, too swiftly the quiet village drew near, but my thoughts were neither of the village nor the night. As I sat and pulled silently upwards, life was entirely changing for me. Old thoughts, old passions, old aims and musings slipped from me and swept off my soul as the darkening river swept down into further night. "Streatley! So soon! We are in time, then." Humbly my heart thanked her for those words, "So soon." I gave her my hand to help her ashore, and, as I did so, said-- "You will forgive me?" "For getting wet in my service? What is there to forgive?"