“Mary!” said Eugene to the lady. “You are making a long voyage for a small boat.” “It was an involuntary one,” she replied, blushing and looking troubled when his gaze met her own. “I was crossing from the Port to the island, when I lost my oars overboard. I was drifting out to sea, and this kind gentleman swam off to my assistance.” “But was unable to render any,” added Mr. Buckstone. “Could you spare me a pair of oars, sir?” “I can do better than that for you. I will land you at the Point, or wherever you please. Mary, let me help you on board.” “Excuse me, sir, but I would much rather pull ashore,” interposed Mr. Buckstone. “I am wet and rather chilly, and I think the exercise would do me good.” The marine painter had already imagined how very pleasant and exhilarating it would be to place the fair girl in the stern-sheets of the boat, while he occupied the fore thwart, and sit gazing into her sweet face as he leisurely pulled to the shore. He was not willing to abandon this delightful prospect. “It will be a long, hard pull against wind and tide; besides, I have a couple of overcoats on board, which will make you quite comfortable.” “I prefer the exercise; I think it would be better for me, if the lady does not object.” “I am afraid my friends on shore will think something has happened to me, and I prefer to return as soon as possible,” added Mary, as she took Eugene’s hand, and stepped into the sail boat. “You shall have the oars with pleasure, sir, if you insist upon it,” continued Eugene, as he handed Miss Kingman to a seat in the standing-room. Mr. Buckstone did not insist any longer. He was evidently annoyed at the decision of his charmer; but there was no appeal from it, and he went on board of the sail boat. The rebellious craft, that would not go without sails or oars, was taken in tow, and the little schooner was headed towards the Point, for the artist expressed a desire to recover his coat, boots, and sketch-book. On the passage the conversation was confined to the incidents of the lady’s voyage, and her “rescue” by the marine painter, who had placed himself in such a position that he could see the face of the fair one. Dick Birch, who had no idea of what the artist was thinking about, amused himself in watching the countenances of Eugene and Mary, to detect, if he could, any silent indication of affection on the part of either. He was not rewarded by a single sign or token. Eugene was dignified and reserved, devoting his whole attention to the sailing of the boat. If Mary had any thoughts or feelings which concerned the helmsman, they were a sealed book to the observer.