felt an immense curiosity aroused by this half-civilized girl—creature of masterful emotions, in her element where there was darkness and storm.
"Where are we going?" he asked, at last, and ceased to paddle.
A pinkish light hung tremulously between sky and lake. It made rosy for a second the face of the low cliff above them. It made rosy the ripply sand of the little sheltered cove hardly more than a paddle's length away.
"I know this place," she said. "Let us rest here for a little."
She turned the bow of the canoe toward the shore. It grounded with a soft jar. Derek, without a word, leaped to the sand and drew the little craft to security after him. The two stood in silence for a moment enveloped in the languorous darkness. . . . "Fawnie!" he cried low.
He felt her soft mouth under his; he was overcome by a sort of giddiness, and, at the same time filled by an immense compassion for her. . . .
They parted on the driveway, she going towards the orchard and he crossing the wet lawn. As her hand was withdrawn from his, it crossed his mind that during all this time he had never once seen her face.
He was about to enter the house when he remembered Newbigging, whom he had left lying on the mound of freshly-cut grass. He went to it and discovered the Scot heavily sleeping.
"Newbigging!" he said, shaking him, "Do you want to get your death of cold?"
Newbigging sat up, nibbing his eyes like a drowsy child. Derek felt his shirt.
"Good Lord, man! You're wet through. Get up!"
