Aye, worth everything else in the world. Far out in the east over that restless horizon the first ray of the sun had tipped, sending a widening, radiant path of pure gold to meet them. It shone on her red-brown hair, turning it to bronze; it shone in their blue eyes, turning them to sapphires; and it shone on their wholesome, happy faces, transfiguring them out of all semblance to beings of dingy earth and purifying them from all mortal taint. They were freed souls swimming in the vasty ether, all around them the dawn of a new day. So they went on and on, till suddenly Duke veered their course shorewards with one guiding stroke. "I shall tire you out," he said softly, and his freed hand, as he disentangled her hair from his neck, lifted the shiny strands to his lips for a second. "You have got such jolly hair, Marmie! I wonder you don't wear it down your back. None of the fellows could resist you then." Their faces were away from the dawn now and hers already had a cloud on it. "I'm going to the big rock. I left my shawl there," she said, directing her course towards it. Duke followed suit in silence. Suddenly he said-- "I can't think how I was such a fool as to get drunk last night. It shan't occur again; but, you know, I shouldn't have had this perfectly stunning time if I hadn't, should I? We must repeat it every morning, Marmie, mustn't we?" "Weather permitting," she replied, almost bitterly. "But it's no often sae comfortable to be in the water as it is this morning, Mr. Duke." "Ah, you should have been with me in the Indies! You could stop in all day. You're not feeling cold, I hope?" Cold! With every pulse in her body clamouring for sheer joy in his presence. "I'll no be cold when I get my shawl," she said calmly; then, seeing him turn, called quickly-- "You're no going across again, Mr. Duke, it isn't safe!" "Didn't I tell you so from the beginning, eh? No; of course I'm not. I'm going to swim up the side to the steps and send the ghillie for the boat." She watched the rhythmic spluttering of his overhand stroke past the point. He would be home before her, she thought, as somewhat wearily she climbed the rocks to the keep. It had been a real joy. In all her life, long or short, she would never forget it. That was the pity of it, for the memory might become a pain. CHAPTER V