"Twenty-five miles. We've been out about three hours." He kept on
rowing steadily, and although the distance they had gone frightened
her, she summoned her courage to say:

"We can make that easily enough. Come, run in to the bank."

He ceased rowing and let the boat drift with dragging sweeps, filled
his pipe and lighted it, then took up his oars again and resumed his
labors.

"Please do as I ask you, Mr. Runnion. I've decided I don't want to
go any farther." He laughed, and the sound aroused her. "Put me
ashore this minute!" she cried, indignantly. "What do you mean?"

"You've got a fierce temper, haven't you?"

"Will you do it or not?"

When he made no answer, except to continue the maddening monotony of
his movements, she was seized with a rash resolve to wrench the oars
out of his hands, and made a quick motion towards him, at which he
shouted:

"Sit down! Do you want to upset us?"

The unstable craft lurched and dipped dangerously, and, realizing
the futility of her mad impulse, she sank back on her knees.

"Put me ashore!"