Ramshackle House. Footner Hulbert

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      “How fine of you to come to warn me!” he said warmly.

      Pen retreated into deeper water. “Please!” she said sharply. “There is not an instant to lose!”

      “But if I’ve got to go… I must thank you,” he said.

      It was not part of Pen’s plan to let him go, but not wishing to provoke another argument, she let the words pass for the moment.

      “Anyhow, come out of the water,” he pleaded. “Your feet must be chilled through.”

      He put down a paddle at the edge of the water and Pen stepped out on it. He looked at her longingly.

      “Hurry! Hurry!” Pen said.

      With a sigh he commenced to pull up the pegs that fastened down his tent.

      It was soon bundled into the canoe together with his grub-box, his valise, and the odds and ends of his baggage.

      “Get in,” he said. “I’ll paddle you back to the wharf.”

      Pen sat down in the bottom of the canoe while he perched on the stern seat wielding the paddle with the easy grace of long custom. She watched him through her lashes. The moon was behind him, silhouetting his strong frame and making a sort of aureole about his bare head.

      The tide was high and the water had risen to within three feet of the floor of the wharf. Pen climbed out upon it.

      “Well, is this good-by?” he said dolefully.

      “No,” said Pen breathlessly. Her instinct told her there was another struggle of wills ahead. “You’re not going. I’m going to keep you here.”

      “What!” he cried. “Oh, if you knew how you tempted me!”

      “Tempt you!” she said crossly. “This is no time for sentiment!”

      “I couldn’t let you,” he said firmly.

      “Where could you go?” she demanded.

      “I’ll manage to keep out of sight.”

      “There is no place you could go!” she insisted. “The Sun-paper is read on the remotest creeks. Do you realize what a hue and cry will be raised in the morning? Fifty boats will be out searching the river, the bay, the creeks. How could you hope to escape? Where would you get food and fresh water?”

      “I’ll find a way,” he said stubbornly. “I’m going back to New York.”

      “Stay here!” she pleaded.

      “I couldn’t! What would you think of a man who unloaded all his troubles on a woman like that?”

      “What would I think of him?” Pen was on her knees at the edge of the wharf reaching down for his things. The moonlight was in her face. She suddenly smiled at him in an oddly tender, an indulgent sort of way. “Don’t be silly!” she said brusquely. “Hand me up that valise.”

      The advantage was all with her now. His man’s pride was hardly strong enough to tear him away from her. He passed up the valise.

      “I’ll find some way to square the account,” he grumbled.

      Pen smiled still.

      “What will we do with the canoe?” he asked, when their cargo was unloaded on the wharf.

      “Sink it in deep water at the end of the wharf,” she said.

      “Good! I’ll empty my clothes out and fill the valise with stones.”

      “Such a good valise,” objected the prudent Pen. “Couldn’t you just load the stones in the canoe?”

      “No. She’d roll them out and come to the top. I can tie the valise to a thwart.”

      How Pen loved to have him talk to her offhand as to another man!

      While he was attending to the canoe Pen busied herself dividing his belongings into two equal lots to carry up the hill. Her eyes ever glancing in the direction of the Island finally saw a tiny red and a green eye turn on them from afar.

      “They’ve started back,” she said quietly. “We’ll have to carry everything in one trip.”

      “Oh, throw everything overboard that will sink.”

      “You’ll need it.”

      “What are you going to do with me?”

      “Hide you in the woods.”

      Presently the put-put of the noisy little boat came to them across the water.

      “No time to lose!”

      When Counsell came to her he coolly appropriated half her load. They wasted a good minute quarreling over it. Pen was not accustomed to having her will opposed by a man. Her undisputed sway at Broome’s Point had made her a little too autocratic perhaps. A hot little flame of anger shot up in her breast. When she became angry Counsell laughed delightedly. This was outrageous. Nevertheless she liked it. She found a curious pleasure in giving in to him, and meekly accepted what he said she might carry. “What is happening to me?” she asked herself for the dozenth time that day.

      They plodded up the hill under their loads, Pen in advance. Their shadows marched before them. The whole earth was held in a spell of moonlight and the perfume of the wild grape. It sharpened their senses intolerably. Life seemed almost too much to be borne. Neither could speak. Once Counsell bending under the weight of his pack, mutely put his hand forward and groped for hers.

      “Don’t! Don’t!” she said painfully.

      “Oh, Pen!” he murmured.

      As they progressed along the top of the bank the motor-boat was completing her journey below them. They could glimpse the boat through the interstices of the bushes, but those in the boat could not have seen them.

      “We must hurry,” said Pen. “They must see already that your tent is gone.”

      Reaching the tenant cottage outside the grounds Pen said: “We could save time by cutting across here, but we’d leave a wide open track through the wet weeds. We’ll have to go around.”

      They followed the road to the broken gate, and making the turn, kept along outside the fence until they got well in the rear of the cottage. Here the faintly marked path worn by Pen crossed the road, and they turned into it. The motor-boat had come to her moorings. Breaking into a sort of staggering run under their burdens they were soon received into the woods.

      “I must get back to the house before they do,” Pen panted.

      The glade with its tiny temple presented a scene of unearthly beauty. A shaft of moonlight was silvering the pale dome. The deep bowl below the bank was full to the brim of moonlight.

      A gasp of astonishment escaped Counsell. “What’s this?”

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