Breaking into it, came the shrill sound of the whistle.  The Col.  Phillips—­the last boat for the night—­was giving out its warning.  The Chautauqua bells began their parting peal.  Not even for his own convenience would that marvel of punctuality have the bells tarry a moment behind the hour appointed.

Our girls looked at each other and made signs, and nodded, and began to slip quietly out.  They had arranged to spend the night at the Mayville House, and take an early train.  Many others were softly and reluctantly moving away.  They were very quiet during that last walk down to the wharf.  Glorious moonlight was abroad, and the water shone like a sheet of silver.

As they walked, the evening wind brought to them the notes of the last song which the throng at the stand were singing.  A clear, ringing, yet tender farewell.  It floated sweetly down to them, growing fainter and fainter as the distance lengthened, until, as they stepped on board the boat, they lost its sound.  There were many people going the same way, but there was little talking.  There are times when people, though they may be very far from unhappiness, have no desire to talk.  Once on deck, Marion turned and clasped both of Eurie’s hands.

“I have had such a blessed surprise to-night!” she said, with glowing face.  “I did not think of such a thing!  O Eurie, why didn’t you tell me?”

“You cannot begin to be as surprised as I am,” Eurie said.  “I thought you were miles away from such a thing.  Why didn’t you tell me?”

Ruth and Flossy were leaning over, watching the play of the water against the boat’s side.

“What about those two?” Eurie said, nodding her head toward them.

Marion sighed.

“Ruth is very far from understanding anything about it,” she said; “at least the last time I talked with her she knew as little about the Christian life as the veriest heathen so far at least as personal duty was concerned.”

“When was that?”

“Why, a week ago; more than a week.”

“How long is it since you settled this question for yourself?”

“Since yesterday,” Marion said, blushing and laughing.  “Eurie, you would do for a cross-questioner.”

“And I have been on this side since Saturday,’” Eurie answered, significantly.  “A great many things can happen in a week.”

At this point, Ruth turned and came towards them.  She looked quiet and grave.

“It is a year, isn’t it? since we stood here together for the first time,” she said.  “At least I seem to have had a year of life and experience.  Do you know, girls, I have something to tell you:  I thought to wait until we reached home, but I have decided to-night that I will not.  I am sorry that I have not told you before.  Marion, don’t you know how like a simpleton I talked, a week ago last Saturday night?  I want to tell you that I was a fool; and was talking about that of which I knew nothing at all.  I want to assure you that there is a safe place, that I know it now by actual experience, I have gone to the mountain and it is sure and safe; and, oh, girls, I want you both to come so much.”