The touch of his hand and his compassionate voice filled her with an eagerness that frightened. She longed to lay bare her heart,--to seek solace from this man who had awakened the only real love her heart had known. Why couldn't she have this consolation at least? He would never know that she loved him. She would always be true to Howard--George would despise her if she were not. George's eyes were asking her to answer--asking her to confide in his great heart. She felt their power. She drank in their intense sympathy--then suddenly she grew deadly pale. She shrank away from him like a frightened child. "Edith, what have I done? Speak! Surely you cannot fear me?" he asked gently. Afraid of him? No! But she dared not tell him she feared her own poor, weak self. "Don't, George, O don't!" she said pitifully. "Ask me nothing. I am not strong, that is all. I ought not to have come. Let us get home quickly. Alma may become alarmed." He drew away and contemplated her with surprise and concern. "Poor child! Whatever troubles you, let it be your own sorrow then, dear girl. I never wished to worry you about it, Edith." "O, I knew you did not," she replied miserably. She arose, and for a moment, weakly leaned against the tree. "Let me help you," he said gently. She allowed him to assist her into the boat. When he had rearranged her cushions, and seen that she was comfortably seated, he took the oars and started the boat quickly. A feeling of intense shame kept her face averted. Neither spoke for some time. The setting sun was entirely hid by heavy ominous clouds. Small ones were gathering from every direction. "I hope we get ahead of this storm," remarked George anxiously. "These mountain lakes are so treacherous." Suddenly, little ripples and currents appeared upon the glassy surface of the lake. They were about a quarter of a mile from the shore. George stopped rowing and scanned the heavens intently. "We must make for shelter until this is over," he said decisively. "See! There is an apology of a log cabin over there. It will protect us from the rain, anyway." He quickly swung the boat about and headed for the small encampment. A sudden squall caught the boat sideways. Edith caught the rim of the boat to steady herself. "Not a minute to lose," said George grimly. Hardly had he spoken when a second squall struck the frail craft. With a suddenness almost incredible, the boat was lifted almost entirely out of the water and then with a heavy splash, it completely reversed. So quickly had the wind accomplished its treachery, that Edith realized nothing until she felt herself rising to the surface of the water, while a strong arm grasped her own with an effort. George kept her above water with one hand while he held on to one end of the boat with the other. The wind was blowing strong, but no rain had as yet fallen. Edith felt little or no fear, and with almost a smile she asked George. "Now what can we do?"