Mr. and Mrs. Helmstedt walked down to the beach with Nellie and her boys, saw them enter the boat, which quickly left the beach, and, with the dipping oars raising sparkles of light in its course, glided buoyantly over the moonlit water toward the distant point of Buzzard’s Bluff. Philip Helmstedt and Marguerite were left alone on the beach. Philip stood with folded arms and moody brow, gloomily watching the vanishing boat. But Marguerite was watching him. He turned and looked at her, saying, in a troubled voice: “Marguerite, you are the warden of your own liberty. You can speak, if you choose, the words that will free you from restraint. Why will you not do it? You punish me even more than yourself by the obstinate silence that makes you a prisoner.” “Philip, it is not as you think. I cannot speak those words to which you allude; but, Philip, beloved, I can and do accept your fiat. Let it rest so, dearest, until, perhaps, a day may come when I may be clear before you.” “The air is too chill for you; come to the house,” said Mr. Helmstedt, and, without making any comment upon her words, he gave Marguerite his arm and led her home. From that day forward, by tacit consent, they never alluded to the subject that gave both so much uneasiness. And life passed calmly and monotonously at the island. Mrs. Houston made herself merry in talking to her mother, who was on a visit to Buzzard’s Bluff, of Marguerite’s nervousness and its probable cause. And both mother and daughter waived ceremony and often visited the island, where they were always received with warm welcome both by Mr. and Mrs. Helmstedt. And not the faintest suspicion that there was any cause of disagreement between their friends ever approached the minds of either the Houstons or the Comptons. They saw the deep attachment that existed between Philip and Marguerite, and believed them to be very happy. It is true that Mrs. Helmstedt’s palpable ill-health was a subject of frequent comment on the part of Mrs. Houston, as well as of serious anxiety to Mrs. Compton. “I fear that Marguerite will not live; I fear that she will die as her mother died,” said the elder lady. “I can scarcely believe that such a glorious creature should die; nor do I believe it. But she does remind me of that rich, bright, tropical flower that I bought at the conservatory in Richmond and brought down to Buzzard’s Bluff. It did not fade or bleach in our bleak air but dropped its head, wilted and died, as brilliant in death as in life. Marguerite lived out her glorious life in Richmond among worshiping friends--but now! And yet Philip Helmstedt loves her devotedly, loves her almost to death, as my little stepson, Franky, vows he loves me,” said Nellie.