"Streatley! So soon! We are in time, then."
Humbly my heart thanked her for those words, "So soon." I gave her my hand to help her ashore, and, as I did so, said—
"You will forgive me?"
"For getting wet in my service? What is there to forgive?"
Oh, cruelly kind! The moon was up now and threw its full radiance on her face as she turned to go. My eyes were speaking imploringly, but she persisted in ignoring their appeal.
"You often come here?"
"Oh, no! Sunday is my holiday; I am not so idle always. But mother loves to come here on Sundays. Ah, how I have neglected her to-day!" There was a world of self-reproach in her speech, and again she would have withdrawn her hand and gone.
"One moment," said I, hoarsely. "Will you—can you—tell me your name?"
There was a demure smile on her face as the moon kissed it, and—
"They call me Claire," she said.