"I can row you. We have only to paddle round those rocks, and the current will take us right on to the yacht." "But the men?" "Lazy beggars! let them swim. Besides, they should have been here long ago; it is past five." "Half-past. They have been here and put the stores in the boat." "It is we who are late." He moved a step closer, impatiently. "What have the men to do with it, Maud? Don't--don't be childish! What are you afraid of--not of me, surely?" There was a pause. "I am afraid of nothing," she said lightly. "Come, it will be pleasant out on that sunny sea at any rate." He steadied the boat for her, and she stepped in. "Where to?" he asked, half in jest, when a stroke or two had taken them from the shadow of the rock into the glitter of the sinking sun, where they lay bathed in light, the water dripping from the lifted oars like drops of molten gold. "Why shouldn't we leave everything behind and set sail for nowhere--anywhere?" With his arms resting on the oars, he leant forwards, fixing his dark eyes on her face. They were full of pity and a great tenderness. "You look so nice there, Maud. Take off your hat, dear, and let the sun shine on your hair as it used to do when you were a girl. If I had my will, Maud, you should always be in the sunlight; you know that, don't you?" The oars fell into the water softly as he rowed on, whilst she sate silent, trailing one hand in the water and watching the great big medusæ come pulsating past. "How pleasant it must be to drift--like that!" she said half to herself, and once again the drip, drip, drip, of those golden tears filled up the silence as the boat swayed idly on the breathing of the sea. "Why shouldn't we drift? There is plenty of time, and God knows ties enough, as a rule. Grapnels fore and aft and a mud bank under all to stick upon." "Don't talk of that now, Eustace," she broke in hurriedly. "Let us forget it for this last half hour. Isn't it enough to be here--together?" "Enough for now--" he replied unsteadily; "but for afterwards?" "There may be no afterwards." He shook his head. "A man never thinks of that. He can't live on moonshine; or sunshine either. He wants something real; and so do you. Maud! what will you do when you go back to him?" She put out her hand in entreaty with a little cry. "Oh, Eustace! can you not let me be happy for one short half hour?" "Happy, when we are going to part? Happy, when I know what your future will be? when I know it will be torture to you? Why did you send him away if it was not because the strain was too great for you to bear?" "I--I did not send him away," she faltered. "Pshaw! Hooper told me about it--the fool was afraid. Then the wire came, of course, and there was no need for the other. But you meant it, Maud. Ah, my darling! don't think I am blaming you--Blame! How could I blame you save for too much patience?