As they passed by the Wharton House, "There's Otway," said Ethan, looking up at a group of men at the entrance. Mr. Otway came down the steps and shook hands. "This is a surprise!" he said to Val. "Come in and see Julia. She has no idea you're here." "Oh, thank you, not this evening. We're going on the river, and it gets dark so soon. I didn't know Julia was coming." "Neither did I," laughed the indulgent father, "until this morning. Well, come in to-morrow. Good-bye!" They got a boat, and by half-past four were speeding up-stream to Ethan's steady stroke. "It'll be a simply glorious evening. We shall have a flaming sunset, you'll see!" "Yes. The rain has washed the world till it shines." They talked very little at first. "I don't think we ought to go beyond the Gray Pool," said Val, regretfully. "Where's that?" "About a mile on." "Oh, we can get farther than that." "Well, they don't know where I am, you see, after all, and it's nice by the Gray Pool, where the trees bend down. You could rest there." "Do I look as if I wanted to rest?" "Can't say you do." "You've never told me what brought you here all of a sudden." "I wanted to find out something." "Well, have you succeeded?" He smiled at her in that sudden way of his that made her heart contract. She couldn't speak directly, but her silence seemed to her to say too much. She rushed nervously for the light veil of words. "I was afraid my life was growing poorer than I had imagined. If you were going out of it, I knew I must go and find something to fill up the empty place." "Going out of it?" He scrutinized her keenly. "Where should I go?" "Oh, there are so many people and things beckoning to you. How could I tell? I was afraid you'd gone into some world where I couldn't follow--" "So you came after me?" he smiled tenderly. "Some world," she said, getting a little red, "where you didn't want me." "I _always_ want you--" he stopped short, drew his forward-bending figure up, and pulled hard at the oars. "But as to my world, you'd hate it if you found yourself at close quarters with it. I give you the best side of it in my letters." "I've told you I don't want only the best." "What do you want?" "All." The brave, yet shamefaced look left nothing doubtful; but he affected to think she spoke only of letters. "If I wrote you 'all,' I'd make a pessimist of you in no time." "Would it be things about--about other women that would make me--" "Chiefly about men; most of all, about the things that are stronger than men." They were silent a moment. "I don't know how it is," she drew her hand across her eyes; "but you give me again the old feeling that you're somehow a prisoner--" "A prisoner--yes." "And that I must set you free." His dark eyes were misty for a moment. "You couldn't do that without--" "Without?" He shook his head, turned, and glanced behind him. "Oh, look at the sun!"