Mr. Raleigh, suddenly lifting one oar, gave the boat a sharp curve and sent it out on the open expanse; it seemed to him that he had no right thus to live two lives in one.  Still he wished to linger, and with now and then a lazy movement they slipped along.  He leaned one arm on the upright oar, like a river-god, and from the store of boat-songs in his remembrance sang now and then a strain.  Marguerite sat opposite and rested along the side, content for the moment to glide on as they were, without a reference to the past in her thought, without a dream of the future.  Peach-bloom fell on the air, warmed all objects into mellow tint, and reddened deep into sunset.  Tinkling cow-bells, where the kine wound out from pasture, stole faintly over the lake, reflected dyes suffused it and spread around them sheets of splendid color, outlines grew ever dimmer on the distant shores, a purple tone absorbed all brilliance, the shadows fell, and, bright with angry lustre, the planet Mars hung in the south and struck a spear, redder than rubies, down the placid mirror.  The dew gathered and lay sparkling on the thwarts as they touched the garden-steps, and they mounted and traversed together the alleys of odorous dark.  They entered at Mr. Raleigh’s door and stepped thence into the main hall, where they could see the broad light from the drawing-room windows streaming over the lawn beyond.  Mrs. Laudersdale came down the hall to meet them.

“My dear Rite,” she said, “I have been alarmed, and have sent the servants out for you.  You left home in the morning, and you have not dined.  Your father and Mr. Heath have arrived.  Tea is just over, and we are waiting for you to dress and go into town; it is Mrs. Manton’s evening, you recollect.”

“Must I go, mamma?” asked Marguerite, after this statement of facts.  “Then I must have tea first.  Mr. Raleigh, I remember my wasted sweetmeats of the morning with a pang.  How long ago that seems!”

In a moment her face told her regret for the allusion, and she hastened into the dining-room.

Mr. Raleigh and Marguerite had a merry tea, and Mrs. Purcell came and poured it out for them.

“Quite like the days when we went gypsying,” said she, when near its conclusion.

“We have just come from the Bawn, Miss Marguerite and I,” he replied.

“You have?  I never go near it.  Did it break your heart?”

Mr. Raleigh laughed.

“Is Mr. Raleigh’s heart such a delicate organ?” asked Marguerite.

“Once, you might have been answered negatively; now, it must be like the French banner, perce, troue, crible,”—­

“Pray, add the remainder of your quotation,” said he,—­“sans peur et sans reproche.”

“So that a trifle would reduce it to flinders,” said Mrs. Purcell, without minding his interruption.

“Would you give it such a character, Miss Rite?” questioned Mr. Raleigh lightly.