not cautious, there might be some risk for him. He was not a clever
philanderer, and Ruth and Duveen had been kind. By and by a puff of cool
wind touched his hot skin and he looked round. A black cloud had rolled
up and there were lines on the water.

"We may get a blow and some thunder," he remarked. "Shall we go back?"

"Not yet. We'll make the point first. If it does thunder, summer storms
don't last."

He paddled harder and a small white wave lapped the canoe's bows. The
sky was getting dark, and now the lines that streaked the lake were
white, but the wind was astern and they were going fast. The glimmering
reflections had vanished and the rocks ahead rose sharply from the
leaden water. The point was some distance off, but Lister knew he must
reach it soon.

A flash of forked lightning leaped from the sky and touched the lake,
there was a long, rumbling peal, and then a humming noise began astern.
Angry white ripples splashed about the canoe and lumps of hail beat
Lister's head. Then, while the thunder rolled across the sky, the canoe
swerved. It was blowing hard, the high bow and stern caught the wind,
the strength was needed to hold her straight with the single paddle. If
he brought her round, he could not paddle to windward, and to steer
across the sea that would soon get up might be dangerous. They must make
the point and land. He threw Ruth his jacket, for spray had begun to fly
and the drops from the paddle blew on board.

"Put on the thing; I've got to work," he said.