nook under the roots of the old pine whence she had taken the boat.

She saw the place. She even glanced anxiously about the ground
immediately around it, thinking that in the glamour of light she could
see everything; and yet in that rapid glance, deluded, no doubt, into
supposing the light greater than it was, she failed to see a man who was
standing ready to help her to moor the boat.

Bart Toyner watched her with a look of haggard anxiety as she came
nearer.

A uniform is a useful thing. It is almost natural to an actor to play
his part when he has assumed its dress. A man in any official capacity
is often just an actor, and the best thing that he can do at times is to
act without a thought as to how his inner self accords with the action,
at least till we have attained to a higher level of civilisation. Toyner
had no uniform, nor had he mastered the philosophy that underlies this
instinct for playing a part; he had an idea that the whole mind and soul
of him should be in conscientious accord with all that he did. It was
this ideal that made his fall certain.

He had no notion that the girl had not seen him. Before she got out,
when she put her hand to tether the boat, she felt his hand gently
taking the rope from her and fell back with a cry of fear.

In her wearied state she could have sobbed with disappointment. How much
had he discovered? If he knew nothing more than merely that she had
returned with the boat, how could it be possible to elude him and come
again the next night? She thought of her father, and her heart was full
of pity; she thought that her own plans were baffled, and she was