At about this very time it so happened that Mr. Hawkins was also beginning to be sorry for himself. The run to Lismoyle had been capital fun, and though the steering and the management of the machinery took up more of his attention than he could have wished, he had found Francie’s society more delightful than ever. The posting of a letter, which he had fortunately found in his pocket, had been the pretext for the expedition, and both he and Francie confidently believed that they would get back to Bruff at about six o’clock. It is true that Mr. Hawkins received rather a shock when, on arriving at Lismoyle, he found that it was already six o’clock, but he kept this to himself, and lost no time in starting again for Bruff.

The excitement and hurry of the escapade had conspired, with the practical business of steering and attending to the various brass taps, to throw sentiment for a space into the background, and that question as to whether forgiveness should or should not be extended to him, hung enchantingly on the horizon, as delightful and as seductive as the blue islands that floated far away in the yellow haze of the lowered sun. There was not a breath of wind, and the launch slit her way through tranquil, oily spaces of sky that lay reflected deep in the water, and shaved the long rocky points so close that they could see the stones at the bottom looking like enormous cairngorms in the golden shallows.

“That was a near thing,” remarked Mr. Hawkins complacently, as a slight grating sound told that they had grazed one of these smooth-backed monsters. “Good business old Snipey wasn’t on board!”

“Well, I’ll tell old Snipey on you the very minute I get back!”

“Oh, you little horror!” said Mr. Hawkins.

Both laughed at this brilliant retort, and Hawkins looked down at her, where she sat near him, with an expression of fondness that he did not take the least pains to conceal.

“Hang it! you know,” he said presently, “I’m sick of holding this blooming wheel dead amidships; I’ll just make it fast, and let her rip for a bit by herself.” He suited the action to the word, and came and sat down beside her.

“Now you’re going to drown me again, I suppose, the way Mr. Lambert did,” Francie said. She felt a sudden trembling that was in no way caused by the danger of which she had spoken; she knew quite well why he had left the wheel, and her heart stood still with the expectation of that explanation that she knew was to come.

“So you think I want to drown you, do you?” said Hawkins, getting very close to her, and trying to look under the wide brim of her hat. “Turn round and look me in the face and say you’re ashamed of yourself for thinking of such a thing.”

“Go on to your steering,” responded Francie, still looking down and wondering if he saw how her hands were trembling.

“But I’m not wanted to steer, and you do want me here, don’t you?” replied Hawkins, his face flushing through the sunburn as he leaned nearer to her, “and you know you never told me last night if you were angry with me or not.”

“Well, I was.”

“Ah, not very—” A rather hot and nervous hand, burned to an unromantic scarlet, turned her face upwards against her will. “Not very?” he said again, looking into her eyes, in which love lay helpless like a prisoner.

“Don’t,” said Francie, yielding the position, powerless, indeed, to do otherwise.

Her delicate defeated face was drawn to his; her young soul rushed with it, and with passionate, innocent sincerity, thought it had found heaven itself. Hawkins could not tell how long it was before he heard again, as if in a dream, the click-clicking of the machinery, and wondered, in the dazed way of a person who is “coming to” after an anÆsthetic, how the boat was getting on.

“I must go back to the wheel, darling,” he whispered in the small ear that lay so close to his lips; “I’m afraid we’re a little bit off the course.”

As he spoke, his conscience reminded him that he himself had got a good deal off his course, but he put the thought aside. The launch was duly making for the headland that separated them from Bruff, but Hawkins had not reflected that in rounding the last point he had gone rather nearer to it than was usual, and that he was consequently inside the proper course. This, however, was an easy matter to rectify, and he turned the Serpolette’s head out towards the ordinary channel. A band of rushes lay between him and it, and he steered wide of them to avoid their parent shallow. Suddenly there was a dull shock, a quiver ran through the launch, and Hawkins found himself sitting abruptly on the india-rubber matting at Francie’s feet. The launch had run at full speed upon the soft, muddy shallow that extended unconscionably far beyond the bed of rushes, and her sharp nose was now digging itself deeper and deeper into the mud. Hawkins lost no time in reversing the engine, but by the time they had gone full speed astern for five minutes, and had succeeded only in lashing the water into a thick, pea-soupy foam all round them, he began to feel exceedingly anxious as to their prospects of getting off again.

“Well, we’ve been and gone and done it this time,” he said, with a laugh that had considerably more discomfiture than mirth in it; “I expect we’ve got to stay here till we’re taken off.”

Francie looked all round the lake; not a boat was in sight, not even a cottage on the shore from which they might hope for help. She was standing up, pale, now that the tide of excitement had ebbed a little, and shaken by a giddy remembrance of that moment when the yacht heeled over and flung her into blackness.

“I told you you were going to drown me,” she said, shivering and laughing together; “and oh—! what in the name of goodness will I say to Lady Dysart?”

“Oh, we’ll tell her it was an accident, and she won’t say a word,” said Hawkins with more confidence than he felt. “If the worst comes to the worst I’ll swim ashore and get a boat.”

“Oh don’t, don’t! you mustn’t do that!” she cried, catching at his arm as if she already saw him jumping overboard; “I’d be frightened—I couldn’t bear to see you—don’t go away from me!”

Her voice failed pathetically, and, bared of all their wiles, her eyes besought him through the tears of a woman’s terror and tenderness. Hawkins looked at her with a kind of ecstacy.

“Do you care so much as all that,” he said, “you silly little thing!”

After this there was nothing to be done except sit down again, and with her head on his shoulder, allow that fatal anÆsthetic to rob him of all considerations beyond Francie’s kisses.