Miss Derwent was uncomfortable, for she knew she could not be welcome, and she longed for five minutes alone with Sylvia; but Judge Trent must be considered, and she had to curb her impatience as best she might. The judge watched the approach of the boat critically. "You go too deep, Sylvia, you go too deep," he announced as she drew near. "Minty, you row like a windmill. You'll have to take some lessons, too." "Minty rows a good strong stroke," said Sylvia; "but she has always had such a heavy boat that she'll have to learn that this doesn't require the same effort." How strange it seemed that any one at this juncture could consider the form of rowing! When one's heart was beating and one's brain struggling to decide how to meet a difficult situation, as if anything mattered, except to reach the shore and not to forget the laws of hospitality. "Well, well, miss," went on the judge, when he could see his niece's flushed face, "this running away is pretty business. What have you to say for yourself?" "She needn't say anything," said Edna. "I told him you were homesick, Sylvia, and it was reason enough. You had ample reason for leaving." The speaker made the deliberate addition significantly, and caught her friend's eye with an appeal in which Sylvia could see the flag of truce. The earnestness and sweetness of her tone and look astounded Sylvia; for had so simple an action as her coming home had power to alter such strong feeling as must goad a hostess before she can so rebuke the guest beneath her roof? "Are you going to come ashore and let us interrupt your sport?" went on Edna. "Unless you and Uncle Calvin care to come out for a little row," returned Sylvia. "It's a wonderful boat, Uncle Calvin." "Yes, Edna, get in," said the judge. "You take the tiller, and I'll show Sylvia how to avoid the windmill habit. Another time for you, Minty," he added, and the child jumped out obediently. Little did the prosaic lawyer suspect the preoccupation of his pupil during the next quarter of an hour. Sylvia did her best to obey him; and Edna, intent on keeping him in the best of humor, expressed her enjoyment of a situation whose finish she anticipated far more eagerly than did her friend; for Sylvia, although apparently intent on feathering, was planning how she could avoid being left alone for a minute with Edna. The moment came, however, when they must land, and Judge Trent superintended the putting up of the boat. He would touch nothing, he wished Sylvia to understand and execute each detail, and gave his directions crisply. His niece welcomed this, for it kept him by her side, a position she hoped he would maintain until their departure for the island. "What do you suppose Mrs. Lem will say to two people descending upon her for dinner?" asked Edna, when at last the three started toward the house. "Oh, this is giving her plenty of warning," replied Sylvia. "I will tell her at once."