It was an evening that invited to repose and reverie:  there were not even the usual fiery colors of the sunset to arouse and fix attention by their rapidly-changing and glowing hues.  The town itself, lying darkly all around the sweep of the bay, was dusky and distant:  elsewhere all the world seemed to be flooded with the silver light coming over from behind the western hills.  The sky was of the palest blue; the long mackerel clouds that stretched across were of the faintest yellow and lightest gray; and into that shining gray rose the black stems of the trees that were just over the outline of these low heights.  St. Michael’s-Mount had its summit touched by the pale glow:  the rest of the giant rock and the far stretches of sea around it were gray with mist.  But close by the boat there was a sharper light on the lapping waves and on the tall spars, while it was warm enough to heighten the color on Wenna’s face as she sat and looked silently at the great and open world around her.

They were drifting in more ways than one.  Wenna almost forgot what had occurred in the morning.  She was so pleased to see her mother pleased that she conversed quite unreservedly with the young man who had wrought the change, was ready to believe all that Mrs. Rosewarne said in private about his being so delightful and cheerful a companion.  As for him, he was determined to profit by this last opportunity.  If the Strict rules of honor demanded that Mr. Roscorla should have fair play, or if Wenna wished him to absent himself—­which was of more consequence than Mr. Roscorla’s interest—­he would make his visits few and formal, but in the mean time, at least, they would have this one pleasant afternoon together.  Sometimes, it is true, he rebelled against the uncertain pledge he had given her.  Why should he not seek to win her?  What had the strict rules of honor to do with the prospect of a young girl allowing herself to be sacrificed, while here he was, able and willing to snatch her away from her fate?

“How fond you are of the sea and of boats!” he said to her.  “Sometimes I think I shall have a big schooner yacht built for myself, and take her to the Mediterranean, going from place to place just as I have the fancy.  But it would be very dull by one’s self, wouldn’t it, even if one had a dozen men on What one wants is to have a small party all very friendly with each other, and at night they would sit up on deck and sing songs.  And I think they would admire those old-fashioned songs that you sing, Miss Wenna, all the better for hearing them so far away from home—­at least, I should, but then I’m an outer barbarian.  I think you, now, would be delighted with the grand music abroad—­with the operas, you know, and all that.  I have had to knock about these places with people, but I don’t care about it.  I would rather hear ‘Norah, the Pride of Kildare,’ or ’The Maid of Llangollen,’ because, I suppose, those young women are more in my line.