Part 33

"On the river," I answered cheerfully. "Glorious afternoon, Lisbeth, isn't it?"

"How-in-the-world did you get here?" she inquired.

"Well," I answered, "I might say I dropped in as it were." Lisbeth brushed the hair from her temples, and turned to me with an imperious gesture.

"Then please take me back at once," she said.

"I would with pleasure," I returned, "only that you forgot to bring the oars."

"Why, then, we are adrift!" she said, staring at me with frightened eyes, and clasping her hands nervously.

"We are," I nodded; "but, then, it's perfect weather for boating, Lisbeth!" And I began to look about for something that might serve as a paddle. But the stretchers had disappeared long since--the old tub was a sheer hulk, so to speak. An attempt to tear up a floor board resulted only in a broken nail and bleeding fingers; so I presently desisted, and rolling up my sleeves endeavoured to paddle with my hands. But finding this equally futile, I resumed my coat, and took out pipe and tobacco.

"Oh, Dick! is there nothing you can do?" she asked, with a brave attempt to steady the quiver in her voice.

"With your permission, I'll smoke, Lisbeth."

"But the weir!" she cried; "have you forgotten the weir?"

"No," I answered, shaking my head; "it has a way of obtruding itself on one's notice--"

"Oh, it sounds hateful--hateful!" she said with a shiver.

"Like a strong wind among trees!" I nodded, as I filled my pipe. We were approaching a part of the river where it makes a sharp bend to the right; and well I knew what lay beyond--the row of posts, painted white, with the foam and bubble of seething water below. We should round that bend in about ten minutes, I judged; long before then we might see a boat, to be sure; if not--well, if the worst happened, I could but do my best; in the meantime I would smoke a pipe; but I will admit my fingers trembled as I struck a match.

"It sounds horribly close!" said Lisbeth.

"Sound is very deceptive, you know," I answered.

"Only last month a boat went over, and the man was drowned!" shuddered Lisbeth.

"Poor chap!" I said. "Of course it's different at night--the river is awfully deserted then, you know, and--"

"But it happened in broad day light!" said Lisbeth, almost in a whisper. She was sitting half turned from me, her gaze fixed on the bend of the river, and by chance her restless hand had found and begun to fumble with the severed painter.

So we drifted on, watching the gliding banks, while every moment the roar of the weir grew louder and more threatening.

"Dick," she said suddenly, "we can never pass that awful place without oars!" and she began to tie knots in, the rope with fingers that shook pitifully.

"Oh, I don't know!" I returned, with an assumption of ease I was very far from feeling; "and then, of course, we are bound to meet a boat or something--"

"But suppose we don't?"

"Oh, well, we aren't there yet--and er--let's talk of fish."

"Ah, Dick," she cried, "how can you treat the matter so lightly when we may be tossing down there in that awful water so very soon! We can never pass that weir without oars, and you know it, and--and--oh, Dick, why did you do it--how could you have been so mad?"

"Do what?" I inquired, staring.

With a sudden gesture she rose to her knees and fronted me.

"This!" she cried, and held up the severed painter. "It has been cut! Oh, Dick! Dick! how could you be so mad."

"Lisbeth!" I exclaimed, "do you mean to say that you think--"