e
river gods. And there was no other escape. If he dived he might not be
able to keep under water as long as she remained, and any movement
he knew would betray him. He stiffened himself and scarcely breathed.
Luckily for him his attitude had been a natural one and easy to keep.
It was well, too, for she was evidently in no hurry and walked slowly,
stopping from time to time to admire the basin and its figures. Suddenly
he was instinctively aware that she was looking towards him and even
changing her position, moving her pretty head and shading her eyes
with her hand as if for a better view. He remained motionless, scarcely
daring to breathe. Yet there was something so innocently frank and
undisturbed in her observation, that he knew as instinctively that she
suspected nothing, and took him for a half-submerged statue. He breathed
more freely. But presently she stopped, glanced around her, and, keeping
her eyes fixed in his direction, began to walk backwards slowly until
she reached a stone balustrade behind her. On this she leaped, and,
sitting down, opened in her lap the sketch-book she was carrying, and,
taking out a pencil, to his horror began to sketch!

For a wild moment he recurred to his first idea of diving and swimming
at all hazards to the bank, but the conviction that now his slightest
movement must be detected held him motionless. He must save her the
mortification of knowing she was sketching a living man, if he died
for it. She sketched rapidly but fixedly and absorbedly, evidently
forgetting all else in her work. From time to time she held out her
sketch before her to compare it with her subject. Yet the seconds seemed
minutes and the minutes hours. Suddenly, to his great relief, a distant
voice was heard calling "Lottie." It was a woman's voice; by its accent
it also seemed to him an American one.

The young girl made a slight movement of impatience, but did not look
up, and her pencil moved still more rapidly. Again the voice called,
this time nearer. The young girl's pencil fairly flew over the paper,
as, still without looking up, she lifted a pretty voice and answered
back, "Y-e-e-s!"

It struck him that her accent was also that of a compatriot.

"Where on earth are you?" continued the first voice, which now appeared
to come from the other side of the willows on the path by which the
young girl had approached. "Here, aunty," replied the girl, closing her
sketch-book with a snap and starting to he