"How fond you are of the sea and of boats!" he said to her. "Sometimes I think I shall have a big schooner yacht built for myself, and take her to the Mediterranean, going from place to place just as I have the fancy. But it would be very dull by one's self, wouldn't it, even if one had a dozen men on What one wants is to have a small party all very friendly with each other, and at night they would sit up on deck and sing songs. And I think they would admire those old-fashioned songs that you sing, Miss Wenna, all the better for hearing them so far away from home--at least, I should, but then I'm an outer barbarian. I think you, now, would be delighted with the grand music abroad--with the operas, you know, and all that. I have had to knock about these places with people, but I don't care about it. I would rather hear 'Norah, the Pride of Kildare,' or 'The Maid of Llangollen,' because, I suppose, those young women are more in my line. You see, I shouldn't care to make the acquaintance of a gorgeous creature with black hair and a train of yellow satin half a mile long, who tosses up a gilt goblet when she sings a drinking-song, and then gets into a frightful passion about what one doesn't understand. Wouldn't you rather meet the 'Maid of Llangollen' coming along a country road--coming in by Marazion over there, for example--with a bright print dress all smelling of lavender, and a basket of fresh eggs over her arm? Well--What was I saying? Oh yes!, Don't you think if you were away in the Adriatic, and sitting up on deck at night, you would make the people have a quiet cry when you sang 'Home, Sweet Home'? The words are rather silly, aren't they? But they make you think such a lot if you hear them abroad." "And when are you going away?--this year, Mr. Trelyon?" Wenna said, looking down. "Oh, I don't know," he said cheerfully: he would have no question of his going away interfere with the happiness of the present moment. At length, however, they had to bethink themselves of getting back, for the western skies were deepening in color and the evening air was growing chill. They ran the small cutter back to her moorings: then they put off in the small boat for the shore. It was a beautiful, quiet evening. Wenna, who had taken off her glove and was allowing her bare hand to drag through the rippling water, seemed to be lost in distant and idle fancies not altogether of a melancholy nature. "Wenna," her mother said, "you will get your hand perfectly chilled." The girl drew back her hand and shook the water off her dripping fingers. Then she uttered a slight cry. "My ring!" she said, looking with absolute fright at her hand and then at the sea.