Charlotte made an excuse to retire early to her room where she could give herself up to thinking over what had passed in the course of the evening between herself and the Captain.

When Edward sprang on shore, and, pushing off the boat, had himself committed his wife and his friend to the uncertain element, Charlotte found herself face to face with the man on whose account she had been already secretly suffering so bitterly, sitting in the twilight before her, and sweeping along the boat with the sculls in easy motion.  She felt a depth of sadness, very rare with her, weighing on her spirits.  The undulating movement of the boat, the splash of the oars, the faint breeze playing over the watery mirror, the sighing of the reeds, the long flight of the birds, the fitful twinkling of the first stars—­there was something spectral about it all in the universal stillness.  She fancied her friend was bearing her away to set her on some far-off shore, and leave her there alone; strange emotions were passing through her, and she could not give way to them and weep.

The Captain was describing to her the manner in which, in his opinion, the improvements should be continued.  He praised the construction of the boat; it was so convenient, he said, because one person could so easily manage it with a pair of oars.  She should herself learn how to do this; there was often a delicious feeling in floating along alone upon the water, one’s own ferryman and steersman.

The parting which was impending sank on Charlotte’s heart as he was speaking.  Is he saying this on purpose? she thought to herself.  Does he know it yet?  Does he suspect it or is it only accident?  And is he unconsciously foretelling me my fate?

A weary, impatient heaviness took hold of her; she begged him to make for land as soon as possible and return with her to the castle.

It was the first time that the Captain had been upon the water, and, though generally he had acquainted himself with its depth, he did not know accurately the particular spots.  Dusk was coming on; he directed his course to a place where he thought it would be easy to get on shore, and from which he knew the footpath which led to the castle was not far distant.  Charlotte, however, repeated her wish to get to land quickly, and the place which he thought of being at a short distance, he gave it up, and exerting himself as much as he possibly could, made straight for the bank.  Unhappily the water was shallow, and he ran aground some way off from it.  From the rate at which he was going the boat was fixed fast, and all his efforts to move it were in vain.  What was to be done?  There was no alternative but to get into the water and carry his companion ashore.

It was done without difficulty or danger.  He was strong enough not to totter with her, or give her any cause for anxiety; but in her agitation she had thrown her arms about his neck.  He held her fast, and pressed her to himself—­and at last laid her down upon a grassy bank, not without emotion and confusion * * * she still lay upon his neck * * * he caught her up once more in his arms, and pressed a warm kiss upon her lips.  The next moment he was at her feet:  he took her hand, and held it to his mouth, and cried: