ing on the
swell, vainly whistling for the wind, and slowly tiding up with the
flood.

It was one of those days so long in the experience, but so charming to
remember. Eve, with her wilful, fearless ways, her quips and joyousness,
had been the life and the delight of it; now, chilled and weary, she
hailed the sight of the lamps that seemed to be hung out along the shore
to light them home: for their boatmen were inexperienced, and, though
wind failed them, had not dared before to lift the oars, ignorant as
they were of their precise whereabouts, and even now made no progress
like that of the unseen voice still hovering around them. There had been
a season of low tides, and when, to save the weary work of rowing a
heavy sail-boat farther, it was decided to make the shore, they were
hindered by a length of shallow water and weedy flat, through which the
ladies of the party must consent to be carried. A late weird moon was
rising down behind the light-houses, all red and angry in the mist still
brooding over the horizon, the boat lay in the deep shade it cast, the
river beyond was breaking into light, reach after reach, like a blossom
into bloom. Two of her friends had already been taken to the bank; Eve
stood in the bow, awaiting her bearers, and watching the distant bays of
the stream, each one of which seemed just on the verge of opening into
an impossible midnight glory. She heard the plash of feet in the water,
but did not heed it other than to fold her cloak more conveniently about
her, her eye caught the contour of a vague approaching form, and then
shadowy arms were reaching up to encircle her. She was bending, and just
yielding herself to the clasp, when the hearty voice of her bearers
sounded at hand, bidding her be of good cheer; the adumbration shrank
back into the gloom, and, before she recovered from her start, firm arms
had borne her to firm land.

"Well, Eve," said one of her awaiting friends, "is the earth going up
and down with you? As for me, my head swims like a buoy. I feel as if I
had waltzed all day."

"Nympholeptic, then," said Eve,--

"'When you do dance, I wish you
A wave of the sea, that you might ever do
Nothing but that.'"

"I thought they threw out the anchor down there," said the other. "Are
they tying her up for the night, too? How long it takes them! Oh, for an
inquisition and a rack,--I am so cramped! Eve, here, is extinguished.
What a day it has been!"

"'Oh