"Let me alone, Tom," she said at last. "I don't want to go in." I had guided her down the bank to my shadowy covert, and there we rose on our feet in shallow water. Then she turned and looked at me. I was not Tom. I was a stranger. I wondered if she would be frightened, if it was a woman's way to scream; and, still worse, if the others would come. I felt that if they did come to mar that one moment, I should kill them. But she was scarcely even surprised. I saw a quiver at the corner of her mouth. "Will you tell me who you are?" she asked, in a very soft, cool voice. "You must never dive again from that raft," said I, and my own voice sounded rough and hard. "Pierre knew better than to let you anchor it there. The water is too shallow. There are rocks." "You are the hermit's son!" quite as if she had not heard me, and still looking at me with a little smile. "You have been in the water long enough," said I. "Go to your tent at once and dress. In another minute you will be shivering." At that she broke into laughter; it was like the moonlight ripple of the lake. "Sir, I obey," she said with a mock humility which enchanted me. "Good-night." She walked up the bank, her wet skirt dripping as she went. I stood dazed, foolish, looking after. Then as she threaded among the trees toward the glimmer of a tent, I recovered myself and ran after her. "Tell me," I said in haste, "tell me, are you Zoe?" She was walking on, and I kept pace with her, knowing how rash I was to follow. She turned her head. "Not to you," she answered, without pausing in her walk. "Good-night!" and she was gone. I know I found my boat, and that, as I rowed away, there were cries of "Zoe!" from the swimmers who had missed her. I was dripping, but my blood ran fast. Was she cold? Was she shivering? Fools, to let so delicate a creature go into the water at night! The men were fools. III Ask me now what of the night and what of the day, for I am the watchman who is fixing his eyes upon life and finding it good. Again I knew there were events in the wind. This morning my father, too, was uneasy, and when we had finished our work, we went out together to the grove near the landing, each with a book; but we did not read. He watched the lake, and I tried not to listen for the dip of oars. At last it came,--O happy sound!--and when I started up, I found his glance upon me. "Yes, they are coming," he said sadly, bitterly. "It seems we both expected it."