ecame subordinate to the
brightening eyes and the smile, he waved his hand in return. They met
with gladness; Lanse seemed delighted to see his cousin, and Winthrop
had never forgotten his old affection for the big, good-natured,
handsome lad of his boyhood days.

The pier was soon left to them; every one else departed, and the two
men, strolling up and down, talked together.

At length Lanse said: "Well, I'm glad Margaret's as you describe" (but
Winthrop had not described her); "for I might as well tell you at once
what I'm down here for--I want her to come back."

"Come back?"

"Yes. I have her promise to come; but women are so insufferably
changeable."

"She isn't."

"Isn't she? So much the better for me, then; for she knew the worst of
me when she made that promise, and if by a miracle she _has_ remained in
the same mind, my road will be easy."

"I don't mean to push myself into your confidence, Lanse," said
Winthrop, after a moment's silence; "but I think I will say here that I
have always as strongly as possible disapproved of her course in
leaving you." He made himself say this. It was true, and say it he
would.

Lanse laughed, and turned down the brim of his soft hat to keep the sun
from his eyes. "I'm not going to lie about it," he answered. "I would
have told you at any time if you had asked me; she couldn't help leaving
me."

Winthrop stared.

"It's a funny world," Lanse went on. "Come along up and get something to
eat; then we'll go off in the canoe, and I'll tell you the whole story;
you've got to hear it if you're to help."

An hour later the two men were floating away from the pier in a small
boat built upon the model of the Indian's birch-bark canoe. Lanse, an
expert in this as in almost all kinds of out-door exercise, wielded the
paddle with ease, while Winthrop faced him, reclining in the bottom of
the boat; it could only hold two. Lightly it sped out towards deep
water, the slightest motion sent it forward; its sides were of such
slender thickness that the two men could feel the breathing of the great
soft stream, which had here a breadth of three miles, though in sight,
both above and below, it widened into six. These broad water stretches
were tranquil; from shore to shore the slow, full current swept
majestically on; and even to look across the wide, still reaches, with
the tropical forests standing thickly on their low strands, was a vision
of peace for the most troubled human soul