“You’d not feel that way if you could see him, dear,” she said.  “He’s as gentle as a lamb, and a little sheepish into the bargain.  And I promised to let him row me over to-morrow afternoon at half-past four.  Indeed, there’s no danger.  The only really queer thing he did was to carry me a mile down the river; and that was my fault, for I asked him to sing again.  He has a delightful voice, and he sang that song you like so much,—­’Oh, wert thou in the cauld blast!’—­and while he was singing he missed the landing.  But he apologized, and rowed me back like lightning:  so it really didn’t matter,—­especially as you met me, like the dear that you are.”

If a member of the professor’s class had used the figures of speech too frequently employed by Rosamond, he would have received a dignified rebuke for “hyperbolical and inelegant language;” but it never occurred to the deluded man that anything but pearls of thought and diamonds of speech could fall from those rosy lips.

“I prefer, however, that you should run no risk, however slight, my Rose,” said the professor, so gently that the words were more an entreaty than a command.

“But I don’t see how I can help it,” she said, in dismayed tones, “for I did such a dreadful thing that I shouldn’t tell you of it if I hadn’t firmly made up my mind to tell you everything.  I think engaged—­and—­and—­married people always ought to do that.  I forgot to take any money, and it was ten cents there and back, you know; and he was so kind and polite about trusting me.  I wanted him to take me back as soon as I found it out, but he said he would trust me, that I could bring it to him next time; and I promised to go to-morrow and pay him for both trips at once:  so, you see, I must.”

“Very well,” said the professor, after a moment’s thought.  “I do not wish you to break your word, of course:  so I will go with you.  I can have a little talk with this unfortunate young man while you are engaged with your dress-maker, and perhaps his condition may be ameliorated.  He could surely engage in some more remunerative occupation than that which he is at present pursuing; and there are institutions, you know, where much light has been thrown upon darkened minds.”

“How good, how kind you are!” she cried, her sweet eyes filling with happy tears, unseen in the gathering darkness.  “You’re sure you’ve made up your mind not to be disappointed when you find out just how foolish and trifling I really am?” she asked timidly.

The professor’s answer need not be recorded.  It was satisfactory.

It is a curious thing that the “sixth sense,” which draws our thoughts to long-forgotten friends just before we hear from them, which leads our eyes to meet other eyes fixed earnestly upon them, which enables people to wake other people by staring at them, and does a variety of similar things, admitted, but not accounted for, fails to warn the victims of approaching fate.  Serenely, blissfully, did Mr. Symington wend his way to the bank on that golden afternoon.  It had occurred to him to exchange his faultless and too expensive boating-costume for a cheap jersey and trousers; but he feared that this might excite suspicion:  he had still sense enough left to be aware that there had been no shadow of this in the sweet blue eyes yesterday.