Muggins’ barking ceased.  The reason was apparent in the sound of a gentle voice they both knew, saying, “Poor Muggins, good doggie, has he come back again to his old friends?” It was the voice of Matilda Nagle, and she seemed to be alone.  Taking heart, the two ladies went in its direction, and, guided by Muggins, who came back to lead them, they descended to a little bay with a sandy beach, where, in the skiff, sat the woman they sought.  She was neatly dressed, and wore a large straw hat.  When they greeted her, she showed no astonishment, but invited them to enter the skiff and see the pretty place she had back there.  Miss Du Plessis hardly cared to accept the invitation, but the curiosity of the older lady was aroused and she pressed her companion to comply.  Bringing the bow of the skiff into the shore, Matilda told them to enter the boat and walk back to the stern.  When they had taken their seats, the stern was depressed, and the bow floated clear of the sand.  Then, with every motion of an accomplished oarswoman, she rowed the skiff along the shore, altogether out of sight of the other picnickers in scow and on pier.  After a few strokes, she told her companions to lower their heads, and, ducking her own, shot the boat through what had seemed a solid bank of foliage, but which was a naturally concealed channel, out into one of the loveliest little lakes eye ever rested upon.  No fire had touched its shores, which were wooded down to the sandy margin, the bright green foliage of the hardwood in the foreground contrasting with the more sombre hues of the pines and hemlocks beyond.  In little bays there were patches of white and yellow water lilies, alternating their orbed blossoms with the showy blue spikes of the Pickerel weed, and, beyond them, on the bank itself, grew many a crimson banner of the Cardinal flower.  Another little bay was passed with its last rocky point, and then a clearing stood revealed, void of stump or stone or mark of fire, covered with grass and clover, save where, in the midst of a little neglected garden, stood the model of a Swiss chalet.  “Do not be afraid!” said the woman, catching sight of Mrs. Carmichael’s apprehensive look; “there is nobody in it or anywhere near.  We are all alone; even Monty would not leave his work to come with me.”  Thus reassured, the party landed, gathered a few late roses and early sweet peas, and then proceeded to inspect the chalet.  The whole building and everything in it was in admirable taste, even to the library smoking-room, which was only disfigured by ugly spittoons and half-burned cigars.  Many books were there, chiefly on chemistry, geology and mineralogy, and there was a large cabinet full of geological specimens, betokening much research and abundant labour in their preparation and classification.