The evening was fast declining; and from the shadow of the deep wood which bordered the western edge of the pond he looked out on the sunset glow as it climbed the eastern hill, transfiguring the ridge, and leaving a rich twilight in the valley below.

The tranquillity of the water, the silence of the woods, the gentle swaying of the boat, finally wooed him from his book, which after all he had only taken up as a protection from tormenting thoughts.

Had he--had he--any chance with Helena?
A month before he would have scornfully denied that he was in love with her.

And now--he had actually confessed his plight to Mrs.Friend! As he lay floating between the green vault above, and the green weedy depths below, his thoughts searched the five weeks that lay between him and that first week-end when he had scolded Helena for her offences.

It seemed to him that his love for her had first begun that day of the Dansworth riot.