Madge walked quietly, and without any fear or hesitation, out on the
deck of the houseboat, straight toward the two shrouded figures in the
bow. Neither of them heard her coming, but she heard Miss Jones's
distressed plea: "Won't you go away, and never come here again. I tell
you, I can not do it. I simply can't----"

"Miss Jones," Madge's voice, clear and cold, sounded almost in her
chaperon's ear.

The young woman turned so white that Madge could see her pallor in the
moonlight.

The figure with her was shrouded in a long, black coat which was pulled
up about its face. At the first sound of Madge's voice it made for the
extreme end of the boat. With a quick turn, Madge ran after the
escaping form. As it poised itself for a leap toward the shore, Madge
caught at the cloak and dragged it away from the face, and for a brief
instant she saw the face of a boy a little older perhaps than she was.
It was a wild and elfish face, while a pair of ears, ending almost in
points, stuck up through the masses of thick, curly hair that covered
his head. But before she could get a distinct impression of his face
the young man was gone, racing up the low embankment with great leaps,
like a hunted deer.

Madge turned to their chaperon, waiting for the latter to offer some
explanation. Miss Jones said nothing, but regarded Madge with
distressed eyes.

"Who was your visitor? I did not know that any one knew we were
anchored here. We did not know, ourselves, that we were to land here