"I shall walk," she said coldly.
He nodded contentedly and led the way toward the landing. Rosalind followed mechanically, but her brain was afire with activity. Beyond doubt, the boatman had become insane; if, indeed, he had not been so from the first.
But she realized that at times it was needful to humor an unbalanced mind. For the present, she would accompany him; but surely there would be an opportunity to escape. If she could obtain no aid from a passing boat, at least there would be ample help when they reached the mainland.
"We'll take the old Fifty-Fifty," he remarked as he loosed the painter. "It's better than rowing. And if anything goes wrong, why, you're here to fix it. By the way, what do you want me to call you, ma'am, Rosie?"
She glared at him.
"No? Rosalind, maybe? It's a little long; but it'll do, I suppose. It's shorter than saying Miss Chalmers, anyhow. But it's not as short as pal. I rather like that, myself. But you seem to be touchy about it."
Rosalind stepped aboard the launch without answering.
She prayed that the engine might not start; but the prayer was unanswered, for it purred happily at the first turn of the fly-wheel. The launch backed out into the stream. An instant later it described a half-circle, then started eastward.
"We'll hit the trail for Ogdensburg," said the boatman. "Plenty of preachers there."
"Are you aware of the fact," remarked Rosalind, with a sudden smile of triumph, "that before you drag me to a preacher you must drag me to some town clerk or other person and obtain a license?"