boat clear of the banks, for the little river turned and twisted through
its meadows like a hunted hare. There was only the starlight to steer by,
but I had fished every yard of the river, and knew it so well that I gave
Joe a clear channel to row in. Not a sound jarred on the rhythmic purr of
the oars in the rowlocks and the gentle lapping of the stream against the
bow. This day had God been very good to me. This was life as I would have
it; work to do for brain and brawn, and a woman to do it for who was worth
the uttermost that was in me. Romance had flushed the drab night of my
life with a rosy dawn, and my heart was lifted up within me. If it faded
away, there would at least be the memory of it. But it might not fade. I
was under no illusions as to the stiffness of my task. I was matched
against the powers that be, against my Lord Brocton, whose ability to work
this maiden ill was increased a thousandfold by his military authority. I
saw my way into Stafford, and I saw no more, not even my way out of it,
and least of all my way out of it with the Colonel rescued and restored to
his daughter. Mistress Waynflete had been so determined in her decision to
follow her father that perhaps she had some plan in mind. She said nothing
if she had, and if she had, it would, I supposed, depend on her woman's
power of influencing Brocton. The future was as black as the outlook along
the river, but I faced it eagerly.

She broke the silence: "The last boat I was in was a gondola. It was on a
perfect night in a Venetian June, the sky a sapphire sprinkled with
diamonds, the warm, scent-laden air filled with murmurings and snatches of
song. And there was no danger."

"Romance, perchance," said I.

"You cannot have a one-sided romance. Romance is an atmosphere breathed
by two, not an emotion felt by one. To be sure, he was the most