When she had seated herself we were so near that her eyes looked
directly into mine. Drawing in the oars, she leaned upon them and
smiled.

"Now, then," she commanded, "tell us all about it."

Before I could speak there came from behind her a sudden radiance,
and as though a curtain had been snatched aside, the fog flew
apart, and the sun, dripping, crimson, and gorgeous, sprang from
the waters. From the others there was a cry of wonder and delight,
and from Lord Ivy a shriek of incredulous laughter.

Lady Moya clapped her hands joyfully and pointed past me. I turned
and looked. Directly behind me, not fifty feet from us, was a
shelving beach and a stone wharf, and above it a vine-covered
cottage, from the chimney of which smoke curled cheerily. Had the
yawl, while Lady Moya was taking the oars, NOT swung in a circle,
and had the sun NOT risen, in three minutes more we would have
bumped ourselves into the State of Connecticut. The cottage stood
on one horn of a tiny harbor. Beyond it, weather-beaten shingled
houses, sail-lofts, and wharfs stretched cosily in a half-circle.
Back of them rose splendid elms and the delicate spire of a church,
and from the unruffled surface of the harbor the masts of many
fishing-boats. Across the water, on a grass-grown point, a
whitewashed light-house blushed in the crimson glory of the sun.
Except for an oyster-man in his boat at the end of the wharf, and
the smoke from the chimney of his cottage, the little village
slept, the harbor slept. It was a picture of perfect content,
confidence, and peace. "Oh!" cried the Lady Moya, "how pretty, how
pretty!"