"Not if they are sensible, as you and I. Come, you can't be angry to-day. I'm too happy. You don't really care about ducks anyhow, do you? I want to talk. I'm in fairyland alone with the old sweetheart of my girlish dreams! And you're ten times better looking than you were then, Jim." Stuart broke into a boyish laugh, and gave up to the charm of her chatter. For hours they sat laughing and joking. The years rolled back, the fevered life of the great city faded, and they were boy and girl again. As the sun was sinking in a sea of scarlet they were startled by the approach of the tender. The guide took up the decoys, and made fast their boat to tow them back to the yacht. His comment on the day's work was brief: "Great sport!" He winked at Stuart, grasped the tiller of the tender and signalled to the man at the engine to let her go. The old man was unusually quiet in the crew's quarters that night. It was nine o'clock before he startled the cook with a sudden remark: "Gee, but she's a beauty!" "Who's a beauty?" "Sometimes he called her 'Nan,' sometimes he called her 'Dianner.'" "Oh!" "You know what I'd like to do?" "No, what?" "She's so purty, I feel that I want to put out one finger--just like that--and tech her ter see ef she'd fly!" "Oh, hell!" the cook sneered. "Her wings ain't sprouted yet; wait till you see her riled." For five days Bivens stuck to his bed with dogged determination, and each day Stuart went out with Nan. Never had she been more resistlessly charming. With tireless fancy he watched the wind blow the ringlets of black hair across her rosy cheeks, while her deep eyes sparkled with joy. Sometimes he imagined her the daughter of Venus suddenly risen from the sea, the dim roar of whose surf he could hear behind the white sands of the beach. Each day she grew more and more dependent on him, until her whole life seemed to move only at his command. Each day their association grew in tender intimacy and every fear that had stirred his heart at first was lulled at last to sleep. CHAPTER III THE TEMPTER'S VOICE On the sixth day Bivens rose early and declared that he would try the ducks. The day before had been, in the local vernacular, a "weather breeder"--a day of breathless seas, a soft haze hanging from the sky, a lazy, sensuous, dreamy, alluring tenderness in the air. The barometer was falling now and dark, snowy-looking clouds were piling up on the western horizon. A breeze came stealing out of the cloud-banks with the chill of snow in its breath. Bivens insisted on going out at once, against the advice of Stuart and the protest of the guide. He not only insisted on going after the ducks but, what was worse, swore that he was going to get his mail and telegrams from the shore. Stuart protested vigorously. "I've told you that the guide is the only man who can run that tender over the crooked course to the mainland, and if he goes away we'll have no one to take us out."