The confident look and attitude of Lily on the shore disconcerted him, and invited further action on his part. He had not yet obtained possession of the oar, for it had to be shoved back before it could be passed over the forward thwart. But he had no present need of the implement, and he abandoned it to survey the position of Lily. He interpreted her looks and attitude as a defiance. The boat, detached from the sand, was floating away from the shore. With a long leap he planted his feet on the land, and the effect of his movement was to drive the boat farther from the beach. A gentle breeze from the westward was driving it farther away, and Lily saw that it would soon be out of her reach. She rushed to the water's edge, and, reaching out as far as she could, she succeeded in placing the end of the blade on the prow. She began to draw the truant craft toward the shore, when Walk put himself at her side. He took the oar from her hand, and pulled the craft up till its bottom grated on the sand. Lily took a stick, and tried to get hold of the painter. As soon as she had it in her hand, Walk took it from her. He not only took the rope, but the hand which held it. He grasped her wrist with one hand, while he tried to drag the boat ashore with the other. He soon found that he had his hands full, both literally and figuratively. Lily attempted to shake him off; but Walk tightened his hold upon her wrist, though he had to drop the painter of the boat, which, having no hold upon the land, began to float off into the open lake. The fair maiden turned and twisted in her efforts to escape, but the young ruffian held on like a vise. In a moment or two she was exhausted with the violence of her exertions, and by this time she was thoroughly frightened. Very likely Walk had no worse intentions than at first, and was simply engaged in the business of getting "even" with the weak maiden who had outwitted him. "What do you mean, you wretch? Let go of me!" gasped Lily, her chest heaving with terror and emotion. "Don't make a fuss, my pretty one; I will not harm you," replied Walk. "Let go of me, Mr. Billcord! I thought you claimed to be a gentleman! Let go, or I will scream," panted Lily. "I only want to take a little row with you, and I shall, you may depend upon that," added Walk, picking up the oar which had fallen on the beach. "Don't make a fuss, and I won't hurt you." But Lily again renewed the struggle with all her might. Just at that moment, Paul Bristol and his mother came out of the cottage. The boy was a stout youth of fifteen, and, the moment he saw what was going on, he broke into a run. CHAPTER II. THE SON OF TOIL FIGHTS HIS OWN BATTLE.