And all the time Paul Desfrayne was riding, he scarce cared whither, under the soft, genial sunshine, that made the landscape seem a fairy-land--riding onward, the sport of fate, to rivet yet another link in the chain of his strange, fevered life. CHAPTER XVII. IN THE THUNDER-STORM. In the afternoon, fortune, deceitful, false friend that she is, favored Blanche Dormer’s caprice for rowing across the lake to the pretty pavilion on the other side. Her mother, Mrs. Dormer, took a fancy for driving over to see Flore Hall, and came about four or five o’clock. Having been escorted over the house, she was too fatigued to go into the grounds, and, as Lady Quaintree was not sorry for an excuse to rest, the two matrons subsided into a pleasant, gossiping chat in what was called the blue drawing-room, with a diminutive table between them, whereon was set a rare tea-service of Sèvres china. The girls readily obtained leave of absence. Blanche did not announce her intention of going on the water, however, for she was afraid of being forbidden to do so. “It seems so droll to think of a girl like you being sole proprietress of this big house and all this ground,” Blanche laughingly said, as they tripped down from the terrace into the garden. “Mama said there would be a storm, but I don’t believe there will be a drop of rain.” A far-distant peal of thunder reverberated as she spoke, but it seemed too far off to mean danger. Blanche again proposed crossing to the summer-house on the other side. “I am a splendid oar,” she said, smiling, “so you need not be afraid to trust yourself to my care.” Lois hesitated for a few moments, but the proposition was too tempting to be resisted. In a few minutes more they were floating pleasantly over the mirrored surface of the waters. It was so calm, so dreamlike thus half-drifting across, that both girls wished they were going an indefinite distance. In half a dozen minutes they were landed at the foot of the flight of steps leading up to the summer pavilion. It was so quiet in this secluded spot that, to any one totally alone, the stillness would have been oppressive. Not a breath ruffled the leaves, not a solitary bird’s twitter broke the silence. The pavilion was situated in the central part of a great clump of trees, nestling amid its rich, encircling foliage like an indolent beauty lying among velvet cushions. Partly oppressed by the dreamlike silence, and the sultriness of the day, the young girls ascended and seated themselves, Blanche on the first step, Lois on one of the fragile wicker chairs. They forgot to secure their tiny bark, nor did they observe that after a while it began to drift beyond their reach.