“Here we are at the gate, and it is propped open. Old ’Sias is down on the shore with a boat, I suppose, and as for Sereny, she’d see us stand here forever before she would take the trouble to open the gate. The only way in which _she_ ever exerts herself is in whacking old ’Sias,” said Susan as they passed through the gate, which John carefully locked behind them. Then he put the key in his pocket, with the intention to give it to old ’Sias down on the shore. A rapid walk through the thick woods brought them down to the banks of the river. Old ’Sias was there, standing in the boat and looking out for the expected party. John Palmer greeted him kindly, delivered the keys of the gate, and cautioned him against ever leaving it open again. Old ’Sias remarked that “Jordan was a hard road to travel for any poor pilgrim who had duties to perform on the one hand, and a Sereny to perform on him on t’other.” But he resigned the command of the boat to John Palmer and made the best of his way to his special post of duty. John helped Susan into the boat and seated her comfortably. Em. entered, unassisted, seated herself in her accustomed place and took the tiller. John laid himself to the oars and rowed swiftly from the shore, while Em. steered for the island. “What in the name o’ sense makes you hold on to that stick, Em.?” inquired Susan, impatient of every motion she did not understand. “This stick, as you call it, mother, is the rein that guides our water-horse down the river.” “I wish you would talk straight sometimes, Em.!” exclaimed her mother. The girl laughed and then explained the simple action of the tiller. When they had reached the middle of the river Em. said: “Dear father, rest on your oars for a little and let us drift slowly down stream. We did not bring you out to-day for pleasure only, but to tell you a secret that we feared the very leaves might hear, and the birds repeat, if we told it on land.” “Eh! What! A secret! A dangerous secret!” exclaimed John, pausing in his work and staring at his daughter. “None o’ the boys ain’t been up to doing nothing wrong, have they?” he continued in growing anxiety. “No, dear father, nor the girls, neither,” said Em. “Whatever trouble you may have to bear in this world, John Palmer, you may be sure of one thing—that your children will never bring it on you,” added Susan. “But—what’s the matter?” inquired puzzled John. “Tell him, mother,” said Em. “Well, then, listen and never breathe it to a human being—Emolyn Wyndeworth is found!” John instinctively opened his mouth to speak, but found no word to express his astonishment. “But I thought she was dead and gone long, long ago,” he said at length. “No, she was only dead to the world, and gone far out of the ken of all who ever knew her before,” replied Susan. “She is the Lady of Edengarden,” added Em. “Eh! What! The Lady of Edengarden! Then she must be our Lady of the Manor as well!” exclaimed John in growing amazement.