And only a few yards from them, emerging from the shadows, they saw a
boat rocking gently at anchor beside a tiny landing-stage. Nelly sprang
to her feet.

'George!--suppose you were just to row us out--there--into the light!'

But when they came to the boat they found it pad-locked to a post in the
little pier.

'Ah, well, never mind,' said Nelly--'I'm sure that man won't forget?'

'That man who spoke to us? Who was he?'

'Oh, I found out from Bridget, and Mrs. Weston. He's Sir William
Farrell, a great swell, tremendously rich. He has a big place somewhere,
out beyond Keswick, beyond Bassenthwaite. You saw he had a stiff knee?'

'Yes. Can't fight, I suppose--poor beggar! He was very much struck by
_you_, Mrs. George Sarratt!--that was plain.'

Nelly laughed--a happy childish laugh.

'Well, if he does get us leave to boat, you needn't mind, need you? What
else, I wonder, could he do for us?'

'Nothing!' The tone was decided. 'I don't like being beholden to great
folk. But that, I suppose, is the kind of man whom Bridget would have
liked you to marry, darling?'

'As if he would ever have looked at me!' said Nelly tranquilly. 'A man