“‘Oh, sing, somebody!’ he sighed in hoarse rapture:  ’the night was made for Song.’

“Miss Ringtop, nothing loath, immediately commenced, ’When stars are in the quiet skies’; but scarcely had she finished the first verse before Abel interrupted her.

“‘Candor’s the order of the day, isn’t it?’ he asked.

“‘Yes!’ ‘Yes!’ two or three answered.

“‘Well, then,’ said he, ’candidly, Pauline, you’ve got the darn’dest squeaky voice’——­

“Miss Ringtop gave a faint little scream of horror.

“‘Oh, never mind!’ he continued.  ’We act according to impulse, don’t we?  And I’ve the impulse to swear; and it’s right.  Let Nature have her way.  Listen!  Damn, damn, damn, damn!  I never knew it was so easy.  Why, there’s a pleasure in it!  Try it, Pauline! try it on me!’

“‘Oh-ooh!’ was all Miss Ringtop could utter.

“‘Abel!  Abel!’ exclaimed Hollins, ‘the beer has got into your head.’

“‘No, it isn’t Beer,—­it’s Candor!’ said Abel.  ’It’s your own proposal, Hollins.  Suppose it’s evil to swear:  isn’t it better I should express it, and be done with it, than keep it bottled up, to ferment in my mind?  Oh, you’re a precious, consistent old humbug, you are!’

“And therewith he jumped off the stoop, and went dancing awkwardly down towards the water, singing in a most unmelodious voice, ’’T is home where’er the heart is.’

“‘Oh, he may fall into the water!’ exclaimed Eunice, in alarm.

“‘He’s not fool enough to do that,’ said Shelldrake.  ’His head is a little light, that’s all.  The air will cool him down presently.’

“But she arose and followed him, not satisfied with this assurance.  Miss Ringtop sat rigidly still.  She would have received with composure the news of his drowning.

“As Eunice’s white dress disappeared among the cedars crowning the shore, I sprang up and ran after her.  I knew that Abel was not intoxicated, but simply excited, and I had no fear on his account:  I obeyed an involuntary impulse.  On approaching the water, I heard their voices,—­hers in friendly persuasion, his in sentimental entreaty,—­then the sound of oars in the rowlocks.  Looking out from the last clump of cedars, I saw them seated in the boat, Eunice at the stern, while Abel, facing her, just dipped an oar now and then to keep from drifting with the tide.  She had found him already in the boat, which was loosely chained to a stone.  Stepping on one of the forward thwarts, in her eagerness to persuade him to return, he sprang past her, jerked away the chain, and pushed off before she could escape.  She would have fallen, but he caught her and placed her in, the stern, and then seated himself at the oars.  She must have been somewhat alarmed, but there was only indignation in her voice.  All this had transpired before my arrival, and the first words I heard bound me to the spot and kept me silent.

“‘Abel, what does this mean?’ she asked.