he felt secure.  He had Katy, sweet and almost happy; he felt sure now that she would be able to forget Westcott, and be at peace again as in the old days when he had built play-houses for the sunny little child.  He had Helen, and she seemed doubly dear to him on the eve of parting.  When he was alone with her, he felt always a sense of disappointment, for he was ever striving by passionate speeches to elicit some expression more cordial than it was possible for Helen’s cool nature to utter.  But now that Katy’s presence was a restraint upon him, this discord between the pitch of his nature and of hers did not make itself felt, and he was satisfied with himself, with Helen, and with Katy.  And so round the pebbly margin of the lake he rowed, while they talked and laughed.  The reaction from his previous state of mental tension put Albert into a sort of glee; he was almost as boisterous as the Privileged Infant himself.  He amused himself by throwing spray on Katy with his oars, and he even ventured to sprinkle the dignified Miss Minorkey a little, and she unbent enough to make a cup of her white palm and to dip it into the clear water and dash a good, solid handful of it into the face of her lover.  She had never in her life acted in so undignified a manner, and Charlton was thoroughly delighted to have her throw cold water upon him in this fashion.  After this, he rowed down to the outlet, and showed them where the beavers had built a dam, and prolonged his happy rowing and talking till the full moon came up out of the prairie and made a golden pathway on the ripples.  Albert’s mind dwelt on this boat-ride in the lonely year that followed.  It seemed to him strange that he could have had so much happiness on the brink of so much misery.  He felt as that pleasure party did, who, after hours of happy sport, found that they had been merry-making in the very current of the great cataract.

There are those who believe that every great catastrophe throws its shadow before it, but Charlton was never more hopeful than when he lifted his dripping oars from the water at half-past nine o’clock, and said:  “What a grand ride we’ve had!  Let’s row together again to-morrow evening.  It is the last chance for a long time.”

CHAPTER XXII.

SAILING.

On the Saturday morning after this Friday evening boat-ride, Charlton was vigilant as ever, and yet Saturday was not a dangerous day.  It was the busy day at the Emporium, and he had not much to fear from Westcott, whose good quality was expressed by one trite maxim to which he rigidly adhered.  “Business before pleasure” uttered the utmost self-denial of his life.  He was fond of repeating his motto, with no little exultation in the triumph he had achieved over his pleasure-loving disposition.  To this fidelity to business he owed his situation as “Agent,” or head-clerk, of the branch store of Jackson, Jones & Co.  If he could have kept from spending money as fast as