Janet was seated near Lady Kathleen. Her face was absolutely tranquil. So unconcerned and serene was its expression that Gerry, as he passed her chair, could not forbear bending forward and whispering in her ear:
"I guess you're funking it."
Janet's blue-gray eyes looked calmly up at him.
"I have nothing to funk," she replied, in the same low tone.
The squire shouted to Gerald to take his seat, and the meal proceeded.
Very soon after supper Gerald and Patrick disappeared. They ran down a shady walk, and soon reached the old willow tree under which the boat was moored.
"She'll funk it for sure and certain," said Gerry again.
"No, that's not her," replied Patrick; "and, hark! do you hear her footstep? Here she comes! For my part, I wish we were well out of this."
"There's no help for it now," retorted Gerald; "she'd laugh at us all our born days if we didn't go on with it. Well, Miss May, and so your ladyship is pleased to accept our escort to the Witch's Island."
Gerry made a low bow as he spoke, and pulling off his somewhat tattered straw hat, touched the ground with it ere he replaced it on the back of his curly head.