While he was waiting, a light flared up in Phœbe’s cottage, and later he heard the clear rhythm of rowlocks. The distance straight across the Lake at this point was probably three-quarters of a mile, and, no doubt, in the stillness of the night the sound of every exclamation had floated over the flat water and had reverberated in Phœbe’s room. The old Indian tradition that each year Keuka will take her toll of five had been all too often verified; so the Lake dwellers were trained to listen keenly when unusual cries came over the water.
In the white moonlight every object was clear, clearer, it seemed, even than day. So Richard rose quietly, went to a knoll a few feet away, and stood and waved his arm. After a time he saw the boat change its course and knew that Phœbe had marked him. Then he went back and sat on guard over the prostrate swimmer.
She was quieter now and, save for occasional swift shudders, her breathing had become almost normal. Suddenly she started to her feet, and made for the Lake.
“You are not going to swim back?” he protested.
She made no answer, and stepped into the shallow water; but he stood before her and seized her boldly in his arms.
“I will not let you go!” he spoke firmly, and tightened his grasp. She struggled and cried out upon him and told him that he was hurting her, but he drew her to him and was thankful for his strength. And all the while he talked to her, telling her things that he had told her many times before, matters which he had given his solemn word would never be broached again; acting, indeed, like the most and the least intelligent of swains. He used phrases that have been iterated since the world began to swim in space; there was not a spark of originality in him!
For a minute or two she tried her little powers against him; then suddenly she gave in, sobbing like a very contented child. She reached her arms slowly up and put them about him, and clung to him and confessed her complete surrender.
Proud Miss Piddiwit had melted quite away.
And thus they stood when the boat grated on the shelving shore and Phœbe drew in the oars, and turned about and faced them. She was again in her blue kimono and her wonderful hair fell in its broad braids.
“The saints in heaven!” she ejaculated. “An’ have I got up out o’ me bed an’ rowed clear across the Lake only to spoil a pretty picnic party! An’ with the yellin’ and the splashin’ it’s drowned I thought ye were! What do you mean by disappointin’ me like that!”