e
everything."

"That was long ago."

"What do you mean?" He leaned forward and grasped her arm as though he
would make her turn.

For a moment she did not reply. Then, "A great deal may have happened
since then," she said.

"I don't believe you!" He dropped her arm. "You say that to stop me,
keep me back; you are afraid of me!" He took up his paddle again.

"Yes, I am afraid." Then, putting a little note of contempt into her
voice: "And wasn't I right to be afraid?" she added. She drew the arm he
had touched close to her waist, and held it there.

"No!" answered Winthrop, loudly and angrily; "you were completely
wrong." He sent the canoe forward with rapid strokes.

They went to the end of the lane, then returned to the main channel,
still in silence. But here it became necessary again for Margaret to
give directions.

"Go as far as that pool of knees," she began; "then turn to the right."

"You are determined to keep on?"

"I must; that is, I must if you will take me."

He sat without moving.

"If anything should happen to Lanse that I might have prevented by
keeping on now, how could I ever----"

"Oh, keep on, keep on; bring him safely home and take every care of
him--he has done so much to deserve these efforts on your part!"

They went on.

And now the stream was bringing them towards the place Margaret had
thought of upon entering--a bower in the heart of the Monnlungs, or
rather a long defile like a chink between two high cliffs, the cliffs
being a dense mass of flowering shrubs.

Winthrop made no comment as they entered this blossoming pass, Margaret
did not speak. The air was loaded with sweetness; she put her hands on
the edge of the canoe to steady herself. Then she looked up as if in
search of fresher air, or to see how high the flowers ascended. But
there was no fresher air, and the flowers went up out of sight.

The defile grew narrower, the atmosphere became so heavy that they could
taste the perfume in their mouths. After another five minutes Margaret
drew a long breath--she had apparently been trying to breathe as little
as possible. "I don't think I can--I am afraid----" She swayed, then
sank softly down; she had fainted.

He caught her in his arms, and laid her on the canoe's bottom, her head
on the cloak. He looked at the water, but the thought of the dark tide's
touching that fair face was repugnant to him. He bent down and spoke to
her, and smoothed her hair. But that was ad