They paddled on in silence till they came to the lasher. Together they hauled the punt over the rollers--there was no one about. When it had taken the water on the other side, Jehane stepped in quickly; while his hands and thoughts were unoccupied, she was afraid to be near him. He stood on the bank, holding the rope to keep the punt from drifting; his head was flung back and he did not stir. Through the network of branches moonlight drifted, making willows, gnarled and twisted, and water, rushing foam-streaked from the lasher, eerie and fantastic. He was thinking of Nan and the meaning of her crying. “Miss Usk, it was very brave of you to speak out.” She laughed perversely; she was so afraid of revealing her emotion. “You must have queer notions about me. I've been terribly unconventional.” They drifted down stream through Mesopotamia, pursued by the sandal-footed silence. When Barrington spoke to her now, it was as though there lay between them a secret understanding. What that understanding was she scarcely dared to conjecture. Here, alone with him in the moon-lit faery-land of shadows, she was supremely at peace with herself. At Magdalen Bridge they tethered the punt; it was too late to return to the barges. Outside her father's house they halted. Through the window they could see the high-domed forehead of the Professor, as he sat with his reading-lamp at his elbow. “You'll come in? You had some business with father that brought you down from London?” “But it's late. If you don't mind, I'd prefer to see him to-morrow.” “Are you staying for long in Oxford?” “I hadn't intended.” “But you may?” “I may. It all depends.” “Good-by then--till to-morrow.” Professor Usk sank his head as she entered, that he might gaze at her above his spectacles. “Home again, daughter? Been on the river with Nan, they tell me! It's late for girls to be out by themselves.” She answered hurriedly. “Mr. Barrington was with us.” “Ah, Barrington! Nice fellow! Did he say anything about my book?” She was on tenterhooks to be by herself. “He'll call tomorrow.” “Have you been running, daughter? You seem out of breath. I've a minute or two to spare; come and sit down. Tell me what you've been doing. Did Barrington say whether that book of mine had gone to press?” She backed slowly to the threshold and stood with the handle in her hand. “I've a headache, father.” She opened the door and fled. Locking herself in her room, she flung herself on the bed and lay rigid in the darkness, shaken with sobbing. Pressing her lips against the pillow to stifle the sound, she commenced in a desperate whisper, “Oh God, give him to me. Dear God, let me have him. Oh God, give----” CHAPTER IV--LOVE'S SHADOW