She kept her eyes fixed on the shore they were approaching, and he continued to regard her furtively, from time to time.
"We can get into the Basin now, can't we, Benny?" she called to their forgotten boatman.
"Easy," he responded. "Suppose ye'll be comin' out afore eight o'clock."
"Well,—Mr. Dunham will," responded Sylvia slowly.
"And Miss Lacey also, of course," added John. According to the programme laid down by the Idea, Sylvia had an unfulfilled engagement on Hawk Island. She had yet to administer to him the contents of the black bottle, reinforced by the ingredient contained in the flat white bag. How with any consistency could she remain at the Mill Farm?
John flung back his head in a silent laugh and passed his hand across his forehead. The boat sailed toward the Tide Mill and under its cold shadow into the smiling, alluring Basin.
It seemed to Sylvia that months had passed since last those white birch stems had leaned toward her and waved green banners of welcome. "Ah. Listen!" she exclaimed. A tuneful jangle as of melodious bells fell on the quiet air, and then, like the clear tones of a silver flute, this phrase:—
"What is it?" whispered John, meeting Sylvia's eyes suddenly alight with joy.
"My hermit thrush," she murmured. "Listen!"