Hope flamed up in his breast at sight of the look she bent upon Murphy, as she leaned forward to speak--and then sank into plumbless depths. Perhaps she had said something--he could not hear, and it was doubtful if the old boatman could have heard either--for on the instant he had laid his strength on the oars, and the boat had shot out into the bay like a skater over the glassy ice. It was a score of yards away before the young man from Houghton County caught his breath. He stood watching it--be it confessed--with his mouth somewhat open and blank astonishment written all over his ruddy, boyish face. Then the flush upon his pink cheeks deepened, and a sparkle came into his eyes, for the young lady in the boat had risen and turned toward him, and was waving her hand to him in friendly salutation. He swung the empty game-bag wildly about his head in answer, and then the boat darted out of view behind a jutting ridge of umber rocks, and he was looking at an unbroken expanse of gently heaving water--all crystals set on violet satin, under the April sun. He sent a long-drawn sighing whistle of bewilderment after the vanished vision. Not a word had been exchanged between the two in the boat until after Kate, yielding at the last moment to the temptation which had beset her from the first, waved that unspoken farewell to her new acquaintance and saw him a moment later abruptly cut out of the picture by the intervening rocks. Then she sat down again and fastened a glare of metallic disapproval, so to speak, upon Murphy. This, however, served no purpose, since the boatman kept his head sagaciously bent over his task, and rowed away like mad. “I take shame for you, Murphy!” she said at last, with a voice as full of mingled anguish and humiliation as she could manage to make it. “Is it too free I am with complete strangers?” asked the guileful Murphy, with the face of a trusting babe. “’Tis the rudest and most thankless old man in all West Carbery that ye are!” she answered, sharply. “Luk at that now!” said Murphy, apparently addressing the handles of his oars. “An’ me havin’ the intintion to burnin’ two candles for him this very night!” “Candles is it! Murphy, once for all, ’t is a bad trick ye have of falling to talking about candles and ‘Hail Marys’ and such holy matters, whinever ye feel yourself in a corner--and be sure the saints like it no better than I do.” The aged servitor rested for a moment upon his oars, and, being conscious that evasion was of no further use, allowed an expression of frankness to dominate his withered and weather-tanned face. “Well, miss,” he said, “an’ this is the truth I’m tellin’ ye--_‘t_ was not fit that he should be sailin’ in the boat wid you.” Kate tossed her head impatiently. “And how long are you my director in--in such matters as these, Murphy?” she asked, with irony. The old man’s eyes glistened with the emotions which a sudden swift thought conjured up.