Barbara sat by the tiller, where a silken cushion had been placed for her accommodation. Paul taking the oars pushed off, giving a smile to Jacintha and a nod to Lambro. "At what hour must we expect you back?" asked Jacintha. "Not till evening," replied Paul, who set out with the intention of spending the day upon the island, and of returning in romantic style beneath the light of the stars. It was a morning of soft sunlight, lovely and still,--"the very bridal of the earth and sky." The heaven was one deep, living blue, and the sea so smooth that the mountain peaks, the cliffs, and the towers of the castle were reflected on the azure surface of the water as in a mirror. "It seems," sighed Barbara to herself, "that my last day here is to be the fairest." In happy, dreamy silence she leaned back in her seat, holding the cords of the tiller, and watching Paul as he manipulated the oars. Each sweep of his arm lifted the boat half out of the water, for he was no novice at rowing, being the captain of the Britannic Aquatic Club at Corfu. Barbara had never known any pleasure equal to that of Paul's companionship; and now this pleasure was about to end--unless--unless. And then the questions that had robbed her of sleep during the night began again their work of torture. Why had he called her "dearest Barbara"? Was it a mere transitory outburst of affection on his part, evoked by her helpless state? Would he place her on shipboard at Zara, and, leaving her to go on her way alone, return to Corfu? The thought alarmed her; she grew faint at the idea of a future without Paul. She contrived to mask her emotion beneath a calm exterior, and as Paul caught her smiles, he little thought how her heart was pulsating to the very tune of love. She even volunteered to take one of the oars. "What? and but just recovered from a fever! Besides, you will blister your fingers." But Barbara was not to be dissuaded. She took the oar, and, never having held one before, behaved like a true novice. She failed to keep time with her partner, and her oar either did not strike the water, or striking, deluged the boat with spray, till Paul began to consider whether it would not be wise to suspend the luncheon-basket from the masthead. Strange how man will tolerate in woman blundering such as he would not tolerate for a moment in his fellowman! Barbara's incompetence at the oar was delightful in Paul's eyes. "I'd better give it up," she cried laughingly. "Our boat is performing such extraordinary gyrations that the steamer from Zara, which I can see in the distance, will be coming up to ascertain the cause." So Paul resumed possession of the oar, and rowing onward in gallant style, reached the island, and ran the boat in upon the sands of a little bay.