I put the boat about, and slowly we returned. Soon at her word I shipped the sculls and allowed the craft to drift. The silence afterwards was full of brooding melancholy. The long, dark shadows on the river were interspersed with flecks of shapeless mist, which fancy shaped to spirit forms, and ghostly arms outstretched to beckon or to wave forbiddingly. How Marion fared I cannot guess, but I was wretched and sunk deep in gloom. It was a miserable ending to so glorious a day, and my heart ached strangely as I thought of it, although I did not reckon all my pain until I found relief at last in her command to seek the shore. We landed upon a long green sloping bank, fringed heavily with willows, to one of which I moored the boat. She left me at that occupation, and slowly climbed the bank. But her white dress shone out through the shadows of the grove, and soon I stood before her. She laid her hand upon my lips and drew me then into a very gloomy little dell entirely girt with trees. I wondered vaguely at her action and her cautious silence, yet as always I obeyed her wish, and waited on her mood. For a moment she kept very still, and then she put her hands upon my breast. "You love me," she said simply. I clasped my hands on hers and answered, "Yes." "How much?" she whispered--very low. "More, Marion, than life." "And you respect me?" "More reverently than death." "What do you wish of me?" "Your love!" "What will you give for it?" "All that I can." "And will you suffer for it? What?" "All that you ask." "Then kiss me, Agar." I bent my head and pressed my lips to hers. Her lips were very cold. But the contact set my blood on fire and I caught her in my arms, and strained her to my breast. She shivered in my clasp and deeply sighed, but I rained hot kisses on her cheeks, and eyes, and lips passionately, striving to warm her with my passion, for I knew that she was cold, and unresponsive too, in spite of her surrender. But of a sudden she tore herself from my embrace and fled. I caught her on a stretch of lawn and held her close again. To my dismayed astonishment she was weeping wildly. I kissed the tears away and frantically implored her for their reason. And yet she would do nought but sob, and gaze around her like one distraught and terrified. "Oh, my God!" she cried at last; "I cannot, I cannot! I was mad to undertake this thing--mad--mad!" "What thing, my sweetheart?" I demanded in amazement. For answer she threw herself into my arms and kissed me with all the passion of her soul, once, twice. Then drawing back, she caught my hand in one of hers, and with the other pointed towards the river, trembling violently the while. "Ask me nothing now," she panted; "but let us go--quickly, quickly. This place is haunted! See, I am half sick with terror."