The reference to her brother brought Lady Mary again in view of her sacrifice. She shivered and was silent as Peter rowed softly out into the stream, and spread the tiny sail. The breeze caught it, and the little boat leaned over, hesitated, and swung quickly across the river. The air freshened upon their faces. They dropped almost in a moment away from the lighted flat, and soon were alone, speeding at ease over the beautiful water.
"Why didn't we think of this before?" said Peter happily. He pushed over the tiller. The little boat turned, and the water chuckled under her bows.
"Let me take you into the open. The breeze is beginning to be stiff for this tiny boat; but we can always lower sail if it gets too rough."
"Anything to-night," said Lady Mary.
"I love to hear you say that," Peter sang.
They passed into a wide lake, and were soon far from the shore, which showed now as a dark line picked out here and there with light.
"Anything to-night," Peter echoed the phrase. "It sounds," he went on, "as if the present mattered more than anything in the world."
The breeze was stronger as they neared the middle of the water. The boat heeled dangerously.
"We've too much canvas for a tub," said Peter. He lowered the sail, and found he could take in a tiny reef. The hurry of the little boat was stilled. It swung idly on the water, and the wind seemed to have left them. Peter was busy with the sail, and Lady Mary sat still as a statue opposite him, her hand on the side of the boat. His happy face was intolerable. How would he take the news which waited for him at home? He was ready now to swing the reefed sail to the mast, but she impulsively stopped him.
"Don't do that," she said abruptly.