"About three o'clock. I fancy."

"Who are you?" The question came like a shot.

"Don't you know?"

"What are YOU doing here, Mr. Runnion?"

"I'm rowing," he answered, carelessly.

"Why didn't you speak?" A vague feeling of uneasiness came over her,
a suspicion that all was not right, so she waited for him to
explain, and when he did not, she repeated her question. "What made
you keep still so long? You knew who _I_ was?"

"Well, it's the first time I ever took you on a midnight row, and I
wanted to enjoy it."

The mockery in his voice quickened her apprehension. Of a sudden the
fear of being misjudged impelled her to end this flight that had
become so distasteful in a moment, preferring to face the people at
the post rather than continue her journey with this man.

"I've changed my mind, Mr. Runnion," she said. "I don't want to go
down to the Mission. I want you to take me back."

"Can't do it," he said; "the current is too swift."

"Then set me ashore and I'll walk back. It can't be far to town."