"Come," said Cicely, "let us go too." She seated herself; and again Eve patiently followed her. Cicely tasted everything and ate nothing. Eve neither tasted nor ate; she drank a glass of water. When the meal was over she spoke to one of the waiters, and gave him a fee; ten minutes later she carried out to the old man on the deck, with her own hands, a tray containing freshly cooked food, toast and tea; she arranged these on a bench under the hanging lamp (for the deck at the stern was covered); then she drew up a chair. The judge had not stirred. "Won't you come?" said Eve, gently. "I have brought it for you." The judge rose, and, coming to the improvised table, sat down. He had not thought that he could touch anything, but the hot tea roused him, and before he knew it he was eating heartily. "Do you know, I--I believe I was cold," he said, trying to laugh. "Yes--even this warm night!" "I think we are all cold," Eve answered; "we are all numbed. It will be better when we get there--wherever it is." The judge, warmed and revived, no longer felt so dreary. "You are our good angel," he said. And, with his old-fashioned courtesy, he bent his head over her hand. But Eve snatched her hand away and fled; she fairly ran. He looked after her in wonder. Within, the tables had again been cleared, and then piled upon top of one another at one end of the saloon; in front of this pile stretched a row of chairs. These seats were occupied by the orchestra, the same negro waiters, with two violins and a number of banjoes and guitars. "Forward one; forward two-- De engine keeps de time; Leabe de lady in de centre, Bal-unse in er line," sang the leader to the tune of "Nelly Bly," calling off the figures of the quadrille in rhymes of his own invention. Three quadrilles had been formed; two thin women danced with their bonnets on; a tall man in a linen duster and a short man in spectacles bounded about without a smile, taking careful steps; girls danced with each other, giggling profusely; children danced with their mothers; and the belle of the boat, a plump young woman with long curls, danced with two youths, changing impartially after each figure, and throwing glances over her shoulder meanwhile at two more who stood in the doorway admiring. The throb of the engine could be felt through the motion of the twenty-four dancers, through the clear tenor of the negro who sang. Outside was the wide lake and the night. Sitting on one of the sofas, alone, was Cicely. She was looking at the dancers intently, her lips slightly parted. Eve sat down quietly by her side. "Oh, how you follow me!" said Cicely, moving away. Then suddenly she began to laugh. "See that man in the linen duster! He takes such mincing little steps in his great prunella shoes. See him smile! Oh! oh!" She pressed her handkerchief over her lips to stifle her spasmodic laughter. But she could not stifle it.