"I've come down all right; I can go back. Now step in." Sidney extended two very cold hands with her gay laugh. "I really never expected that you would be my rescuer. I pictured you in the midst of the pudding course." "Did you imagine that we should dine without you?" He was wrapping her in his overcoat. Sidney protested. "My dear man, I am soaked through. What I want is exercise, not wrappings. I really think our best plan will be to land and walk home. We shall only get stuck on another sandbank. I know them better than you. It's just a fluke that you rowed safely down. It's too dark to see anything." "Can we land?" Randolph said, peering through the darkness. "I'm afraid it must be on the wrong side—this side; there's a bit of beach close to us. I was making for it when I got stuck." "Let's chance rowing back." "We shan't do it. Father won't sleep if I'm out all night." "Will you steer, then, as you know where you are? Confound the boat; I believe it has stuck." He backed with all his might and just saved it. Sidney steered still downstream. "We shall get to the end of this bank and then slip across. Now, then, row for your life. Give me an oar." It was a breathless moment, but they did it, and drove the boat fast and firm on a stony beach. In another moment both were out on dry ground. "There!" said Sidney. "Now we'll say good-bye to our boats and make the best of our way home. It's a good six miles round by the bridge, but there are no obstacles to prevent speed." They scrambled up a steep bank, after making the boat fast to a post close by, and found themselves on a good high road. Sidney slipped out of Randolph's overcoat and held it out to him. "I really couldn't walk in it," she said apologetically; "but it has sent a little circulation through me." "You are wet through," he said, just for one moment letting his hand rest on her shoulder. "Yes; but I'm hardy, and am going to enjoy my walk. I honestly am very grateful to you. I was preparing to make myself comfortable for the night when I heard the splash of oars, so then, Lorelei-like, I began to sing, knowing that I might be luring you to a similar fate." "Who did you think it was?" demanded Randolph. "Not you." "Why not? You knew I was coming to dine." "But you don't know the tricks of our river, and Uncle Ted does. I'm disappointed in him." "I got to the boat first," explained Randolph. "He didn't give you credit for sticking in the mud; said you had too much gumption." Sidney laughed out. "I've never done such a thing in my life before; and now he'll never let me forget it. I was a fool, I own I was, but—I was thinking too much." She hesitated, and Randolph, not liking the drop in her voice, said cheerfully: "How long shall we give ourselves for getting round?"