Mrs. Toynbee shuddered.
"Really, my dear, I should feel pleased if you would excuse me," she said. "I am not at all myself this afternoon: and I am apt to be so very ill upon the water. Do excuse me--and I will wait for you here."
"Well, I should like to go," responded Ella. "I should like to see the wreck, and I shall not be long away. You can watch me skimming over the water."
"I will," assented Mrs. Toynbee, with an air of relief. "I wish you _bon voyage_, and a safe return."
Hubert waited for no more. He pushed the boat into deeper water, then got in and took up his oars. He wanted no Mrs. Toynbee in it, not he, and was glad matters had turned out so. That lady stood on the sands waving her handkerchief till they were quite a quarter of a mile away from shore, and then sat down to continue her novel.
But--it may as well be at once mentioned--the expedition took longer than Mrs. Toynbee had expected. She grew tired of waiting, felt rather chilly, for she had but a thin gauze shawl on, and she got up at length and went back to the Hall.
Hubert Stone rowed on with strong steady strokes, feeling like a man who cannot be sure whether he is dreaming or awake. Could it be true, he asked himself, that he and his sweet mistress were alone together--alone on the waste of waters where no living soul could come between them? Together, yes; but in reality as far as the poles asunder. Still, to be so near her, to have her as it were all to himself, though only for one short hour, was both a pleasure and a pain unspeakable. If they could but have gone on thus for ever, sailing away into infinity, and never touching land again, unless it were some desert island untrodden by any footsteps save their own! Wild, foolish longings! In an hour their little voyage would be at an end, and never again, in all human probability, would Ella and he be in a boat together; never alone, as they were to-day. He needed no prophet to tell him that. Never again!
By-and-by Ella roused herself from her reverie: for she too had fallen into one. They were nearing the wreck. It lay low on its sandy bed, slightly heeled over to starboard. There was little more of it left than the bare hull. Masts and bowsprit had been unshipped and carried away.
"How quiet and deserted it looks!" she exclaimed. "I don't see George Petherton."
"We shall have a splendid sunset," remarked Hubert, as he rested for a moment on his oars, and taking no notice of her words. "See there, Miss Winter!"