"Can I believe my ears or my eyes? Mr. Charteris out at this unheard-of hour? I thought you 'never, never----'" "'Well, hardly ever,'" he returns, with a spice of malice. "How came you to do it yourself?" "Because I always _do_, you know," she returns, smilingly. "I have been out some time; I have had a glorious bath in the sea this morning, have you?" He laughs no, and again renews his petition to be taken in, to which she assents, carelessly. "I did not know you could manage a boat," he observes, as with a skillful sweep of the oars she turns the little craft forward, dancing lightly on the crest of the waves. "Did you not? Well, that is not strange, seeing how little you know of me anyway. I am a good swimmer, too. You would not have guessed that?" she says, lightly. "No, and yet it is a knowledge all women should possess," he returns. "Where have you learned these things?" "My father taught me. He wanted me to be thorough in such things as well as in more lady-like accomplishments." "He must have been a sensible man," Mr. Charteris comments to himself, and then there is a silence broken only by the soft, steady splash of the oars in the water. An embarrassing consciousness has fallen over both. Vane is thinking to himself that after all there may be some excuse for the _brusquerie_ and wildness of the little savage, as he sometimes unkindly termed her in his thoughts. He remembers what Maud had told him of her tuition under her father. Masculine training would be apt to give her that touch of wildness. She in her turn studies him shyly, but intently. She sees the haggard impress of the sleepless night on the pale, handsome face, and about the dark-blue eyes, with their slight heaviness and the faint blue circles around them. Impulsively she speaks: "You have thought the matter well over. You will forego your revenge and save Maud?" "Why should you think so? What sign have I given of yielding?" he asks, curiously. "Your face, even your voice betrays you. If you had decided to refuse my prayer, you would look and speak differently. You would despise yourself, and your very looks would reveal it." "I did not know you were such a close observer," he replies, "but it is true. You have saved me from myself, Reine." As he speaks he leans forward, tossing a folded paper into her lap. The oars lie idle a moment, as they drift at the mercy of the wind and tide, while she reads the precious note. Then she lifts her eyes, full of eloquent thankfulness, to his face. "I expected no less of you," she says. "I knew you could not be so cruel to Maud." The handsome blonde face darkens. "It was not solely for Maud's sake," he replies. "Pray remember that I would not have yielded to you, Reine, only--only you showed me so plainly what a monster I was, and how truly I would be that false girl's murderer if I persevered. And then--then, I could not bear to have my wife ashamed of me."