y a
shudder. The horror of the water which had come upon her earlier in the
evening returned more intensely. The strokes of the clock were the same,
the darkness, the feeling of the sinister water rolling there beneath
the bridge, resistlessly carrying its burdens to the sea. If Keith had
not been there she would have turned and run swiftly away, overcome by
her fear. She timidly reached the steps, and stopped, peering down
through the dimness. She put her foot forward so that it hung dubiously
beyond the edge of the pavement.

"What a coward!" she thought, violently, with self-contempt. It drove
her forward. And at that moment she could see below, at the edge of the
lapping water, the outline of a small boat and of a man who sat in it
using the oars against the force of the current so as to keep the boat
always near the steps. She heard a dear familiar voice call out with a
perfect shout of welcome:

"Jenny! Good girl! How are you! Come along; be careful how you come.
That's it.... Six more, and then stop!" Jenny obeyed him--she desired
nothing else, and her doubtings were driven away in a breath. She went
quickly down. The back water lapped and wattled against the stone and
the boat, and she saw Keith stand up, drawing the dinghy against the
steps and offering her his hand. He had previously been holding up a
small lantern that gilded the brown mud with a feeble colour and made
the water look like oil. "Now!" he cried quickly. "Step!" The boat
rocked, and Jenny crouched down upon the narrow seat, aflame with
rapture, but terrified of the water. It was so near, so inescapably
near. The sense of its smooth softness, its yieldingness, and the danger
lurking beneath the flowing surface was acute. She tried more
desperately to sit exactly in the middle of the boat, so that she should
not overbalance it. She closed her eyes, sitting very still, and heard
the water saying plup-plup-plup all round her, and she was afraid. It
meant soft death: she could not forget that. Jenny could not swim. She
was stricken between terror and joy that overwhelmed her. Then:

"That's my boat," Keith said, pointing. "I say, you _are_ a sport to
come!" Jenny saw lights shining from the middle of the river, and could
imagine that a yacht lay there stubbornly resisting the current of the
flowing Thames.

iii

Crouching still, she watched Keith bend to his oars, driving the boat's
nose beyond the shadowy yacht because he knew that he must a