"You take a drink; you are thirsty, too," he said, bending so low that his lips nearly touched her head. She turned her face up to him quickly and shook her head.
"It wouldn't—be fair."
"I will make it fair," he answered.
Impulsively, with a thirst which burned her throat—a thirst such as she never dreamed she would know—she drank. It was only a sup that she took, but in the instant she wet her lips she was ashamed of what this man might think of her. She started up quickly, taking the hand he held out to her.
"You have not done wrong," he whispered. She shuddered that he had sensed her thought. "I will straighten this out. Say to Mrs. Moore that I sent the water."
Turning to go forward, Emily paused with a start.
"See!" she exclaimed. "What is that?"
She pointed to where a light moved low along the dip of the southern horizon. Lavelle recognized a steamer's masthead light at a glance. In that instant it passed out of sight.
"Only a shooting star," he answered, for he would not add to her misery, and she left him alone in the night, undreaming of the bitter thought that was smiting him.
If he had put the boat on her present course an hour sooner he undoubtedly would have crossed that vessel's track.