Off the Point, Mr. Buckstone sculled the truant boat ashore, and procured his clothing and his sketches. Mary had already invited him to go to her father’s house on The Great Bell, and dry himself. He was very nearly dry without the intervention of the good fire she promised him, but he accepted the invitation; and on his return, the boat stood up the channel towards the pier at the upper end of the island. It was but a short run, and on the way, Mr. Buckstone, now assured that he should not be ruthlessly torn from the beautiful girl, made himself wonderfully agreeable. He exhibited his sketches, especially commenting on the one which included the view of The Great Bell from the Point, and flattered Eugene by promising that his schooner should have a place in the painting. The boat landed her party at the pier in good order and condition. “Will you go up to the house with us, Mr. Hungerford?” said Mary, as she stepped on the pier. “I think not, Mary. I agreed to take my friend down to the Ledges.” “I should be happy to have you go,” she added. “I would like to take a stroll on this island, Hungerford,” interposed Dick. “Then you will go,” continued Mary, with a look which was more eloquent than her words. “Go,” said Dick, in a low tone. There was certainly no reason why he should not go, especially as his friend desired him to do so; and to the intense disgust of Mr. Eliot Buckstone, he complied. Eugene placed himself by the side of Mary as they walked up the hill, and the poor artist was obliged to follow with Dick Birch. Eugene tried to be tender and gentle, tried to let his actions convey the first impressions of what was going on in his heart; but in spite of himself, though he was not conscious of it, he was rather stiff and reserved. He wished to go just far enough to assure Mary that he was tenderly inclined, and then, with the slightest encouragement, he would take another step; but he was so fearful of going too far, that he altogether failed to produce the least impression. To Dick he looked cold and reserved. To Mary he seemed not at all like the free and generous boy he had been in the days when they glanced at each other across the school-room. “We don’t live in a palace,” said Mary, turning round to the two strangers behind her, as they approached the dilapidated mansion of her father. There was a blush on her cheek, and her lip quivered as she spoke, for there was more to mortify her pride within the house than without. “I am fond of old houses. I take an especial delight in them. I shall paint this house, with the sea for a background,” replied Mr. Buckstone, as he followed Mary into the dwelling. CHAPTER V. THE KINGMAN FAMILY.