“So you perceive that there’s nothing for it but for me to bring back the boat, Miss Avon,” said he.
“You do it so well,” she said, with a tone of enthusiasm in her voice. “I never admired anything so much—your sculling, I mean. And perhaps I may learn something about—was it the scientific principle that you were kind enough to offer to teach me?”
“The scientific principle,” said he, with an uneasy feeling that the girl had seen through his artifice to prolong the crossing of the lough. “Yes, you certainly should know all about the scientific principle.”
“I feel so, indeed. Good-night.”
“Good-night,” said he, preparing to push the boat off the sand where it had grounded. “Goodnight. By the way, it was only when we were out with Brian in the afternoon that he told us the story of the Princess and her lover. He added that the cry of the White Lady would probably be heard when night came.”
“Perhaps you may hear it yet,” said she. “Goodnight.”
She had run up the sandy beach, before he had pushed off the boat, and she never looked round.
He stood with one foot on the gunwale of the boat in act to push into deep water, thinking that perhaps she might at the last moment look round.
She did not.
He caught another glimpse of her beyond the furze that crowned a ridge of rocks. But she had her face steadfastly set toward the white cottage.