“I am not afraid,” replied Emily; “it is to be our last day, remember, Laurence. Let us have our last day together.” Something in her tone startled and touched him. He looked at her earnestly, but the proud face gave no sign. “It shall be as you please,” he said; “but I must not forget that you are not out of the hands of Dr. Leonards, and you have told me he enjoined you to be careful.” “Oh yes; a physician always says that when he can find nothing else to say.” There was a little more discussion, and presently the boat shot away, swift as a dart, with the strong sweep of the sculls. They were to land at Chertsey, picnic at St. Ann’s Hill, and come home to Hampton in the evening. Laurence Desmond had the proprietorial mandate in his pocket, that for him and his friends the gates of St. Ann’s should be opened. Only a few big, splashing drops of rain overtook them between Hampton and Chertsey, and when they landed, the stormy darkness seemed to have vanished from the south-western horizon. Mr. Desmond had made all his arrangements; a fly was in waiting, and in half an hour the little party were wandering in the groves which have been sanctified to history by the fame of Fox. The picnic was to all appearance a success. The almost feverish gaiety which had distinguished Emily Jerningham of late was especially noticeable in her manner to-day. _Carpe diem_ was the philosophy which sustained her in this bitter crisis. This last day would she snatch. It was her festive supper on the eve of execution. Like that bright band whose laughter echoed in Trophonian caves of grim Bastille, before the dawn that was to witness their slaughter, did Emily Jerningham pour out the sparkling vintage of the Rhineland as a libation upon that altar where she was so soon to sacrifice her selfish love. The western sky was dark and louring when the revellers left the groves of St. Ann, and were driven back to the boat-builder’s yard, where they had landed. “I really think it might be better to go back by road,” Laurence said, doubtfully, as he looked at the cloudy horizon. Six o’clock chimed from the tower of Chertsey Church as he spoke. “It will be nearly nine o’clock before I can get you home, you see,” he added; “and if there should be rain----” “We will endure it without a murmur,” interposed Emily. “I am bent on going back by water.” “Would Dr. Leonards approve?” “I will not hold my life on such terms as Dr. Leonards would dictate. We shall have moonlight before we reach Hampton. Come, Laurence, I am quite ready.” Mr. Desmond submitted, and placed his fair companions in the boat with all due care. Then, after the preliminary pushing-off, the oars dipped softly in the water, and the boat sped homewards. Mrs. Jerningham’s gaiety left her with a strange abruptness. She leant back against the cushioned rail of the boat, silent and thoughtful, and with fixed, dreamy eyes. “You are tired, I fear,” Laurence remarked by and by, wondering at her silence.