ht, and she caught her breath. Then, as he took
his hand away and resumed rowing, he said: "I beg your pardon! I was
afraid you were going to get up--a girl I once had in a boat did so and
we upset."

"The boat is very small," she said, in a low voice, almost one of
apology.

"Oh, it's all right, so long as you sit still, and keep your head," he
said. "It could ride over twice as big a swell as this."

She looked at him from under her lowered lids with a new expression in
her face, a faint tremor on her lips; and, as if she could not meet his
eyes, she glanced back with an affectation of interest at the steamer.
As she did so, something dropped from it into the lake.

"What was that?" she said. "Something fell overboard."

"Eh? A man, do you mean?" he asked, stopping.

"Oh, no; something small."

"A parcel, somebody's lunch, perhaps," he said; and he rowed on.

She leant back, her eyes downcast; she still seemed to feel that
strong, irresistible pressure of his hand under which she had been
unable to move.

"There ought to be an echo somewhere here," he said, as they came
opposite one of the hills, and he gave the Australian "coo-ee!" in a
clear, ringing voice, which the echo sent back in a musical imitation.

"How true it was!" she said, and she opened her lips and sang a bar or
two of the "Elsie" song.

Stafford listened to the echo, which was almost as soft and sweet as
the girl's notes.

"What a wonderful voice you have!" he said, almost unconsciously. "I
never heard a sweeter. What was that you sang?"

"That thing of Wagner's," she replied; and quite naturally she began
the air and sang it through.

Stafford let the boat drift and leant upon the oars, his eyes fixed on
her face, a rapt and very eloquent admiration in his own.

"Ah--beautiful!" he said in a low voice. "What a delight it must be to
you to be able to sing like that! I can understand a whole theatre
crying over that song sung as you sing it!"

She glanced at him with an affectation of languid amusement; but she
was watching him intently.

"That's not the best in the opera," she said. "I like this better;" and
she sang the "Swan" song; sang it so low that he leant forward to catch
the notes which flowed like silver from her soft, red lips; and when
she finished it he drew a long breath and still leant forward looking
at her.

"Thank you, thank you!" he said, with so much of admiration and
gratitude in his voice, that, as if to ap