“Oh!  I don’t weigh anything.  Lighter’n a feather.  Only an infant.  And besides, I’m going anyhow, by George!” and with that he started to get aboard.  But Albert had anticipated him by getting in at the other end of the boat and taking the only vacant seat.  The Privileged Infant scowled fiercely, but Charlton affected not to see him, and began talking in a loud tone to Ben Towle about the rigging.  The line was thrown off and the boat pushed out, the wind caught the new white sail, and the “Lady of the Lake” started along in the shallows, gradually swinging round toward the open water.  Soon after her keel had ceased to grind upon the gravel, Albert jumped out, and, standing over boot-top in water, waved his hat and wished them a pleasant voyage, and all the ladies in the boat waved their handkerchiefs at him, appreciating his efforts to keep the boat from being overloaded, but not thinking of the stronger motive Charlton had for keeping Smith Westcott ashore.  They could not know how much exultation Albert felt as he sat down on the green grass and poured the water from his boots.

There was a fine breeze, the boat sailed admirably, the party aboard laughed and talked and sang; their voices made merry music that reached the shore.  The merry music was irritating discord to the ears of Westcott, it made him sweur bitterly at Charlton.  I am afraid that it made Charlton happy to think of Westcott swearing at him.  There is great comfort in being the object of an enemy’s curses sometimes—­When the enemy is down, and you are above and master.  I think the consciousness that Westcott was swearing at him made even the fine sunset seem more glorious to Charlton.  The red clouds were waving banners of victory.

But in ten minutes the situation had changed.  Albert saw Westcott walking across the beaver-dam at the lower end of the lake, and heard him hallooing to the young men who were rowing the “Pirate’s Bride” up and down and around the “Lady of the Lake,” for the ugly old boat was swiftest.  The Pirate’s Bride landed and took Westcott aboard, and all of Albert’s rejoicing was turned to cursing, for there, right before his eyes, the Pirate’s Bride ran her brown hull up alongside the white and graceful Lady of the Lake, and Smith Westcott stepped from the one to the other.  The beauty of the sunset was put out.  The new boat sailed up and down the little lake more swiftly and gracefully than ever as the breeze increased, but Albert hated it.

By some change or other in seats Westcott at last got alongside Katy.  Albert distinctly saw the change made, and his anger was mingled with despair.  For Isabel and Helen were in the other end of the boat, and there were none to help.  And so on, on, in the gray dusk of the evening, the boat kept sailing from one end of the lake to the other, and as it passed now and then near him, he could see that Smith was in conversation with little Katy.

“You needn’t worry, Mr. Charlton, I’ll fix him.”  It was the voice of the Guardian Angel.  “I’ll fix him, shore as shootin’.”  And there he stood looking at Albert.  For the first time now it struck Albert that George Gray was a little insane.  There was a strange look in his eyes.  If he should kill Westcott, the law would not hold him accountable.  Nobody would be accountable, and Katy would be saved.