The river was unusually high and the current set the boat, heavily loaded, tugging at the rope. However, it resisted the strain and soon the craft grated on the sand and the party disembarked, safe from constable and bailiff in the brave, blue grass country. Only one mishap occurred, and that to Adonis, who, in his haste, fell into the shallow water. He was as disconsolate as the young hero Minerva threw into the 208 sea to wrest him from the love of Eucharis. But in this case, Eucharis (Kate) laughed immoderately at his discomfiture.
As Barnes was not sure of the road, the strollers camped upon the bank. The river murmured a seductive cradle-song to the rushes, and, on the shore, from the dark and ominous background, came the deeper voice of the pines.
Constance, who had been unusually quiet and thoughtful, gradually recovered her spirits.
“Here, Mrs. Adams, is your tippet,” she said with a merry smile, taking a bit of lace from her dress.
“Thank you, my dear; I wouldn’t have lost it for anything!” said the old lady, effusively, while Barnes muttered something beneath his breath.
The soldier, who had dismissed the manager’s thanks somewhat abruptly, occupied himself arranging the cushions from the chariot on the grass. Suddenly Mrs. Adams noticed a crimson stain on his shoulder.
“Sir!” she exclaimed, in the voice of the heroine of “Oriana,” “you are wounded!”
“It is nothing, Madam!” he replied.
Stripping off his coat, Barnes found the wound was, indeed, but slight, the flesh having just been pierced.
“How romantic!” gushed Susan. “He stood in front of Constance when the firing began. Now, no one thought of poor me. On the contrary, if I am not mistaken, Mr. Hawkes discreetly stood behind me.”