The latter pitched his valise into the canoe without waiting for Weston to see to it, and then stood up endeavoring to squeeze some of the water from his jacket.
"It's the only one I've got," he said to Kinnaird.

"Anyway, I guess the thing will dry, and I've had a sail that has made me feel young again." Then they went ashore, and Weston, who was very wet, was left shivering in the wind to straighten up the gear, until a bush rancher, who had been engaged to wait on the party until he arrived, paddled off for him.

The rancher had prepared a satisfactory supper; and some time after it was over, Stirling and Mrs.Kinnaird sat together on the veranda.

There was, at the time, nobody in the house.

The breeze had fallen lighter, though a long ripple still lapped noisily upon the beach, and a half-moon had just sailed up above the clustering pines.
Their ragged tops rose against the sky black as ebony, but the pale radiance they cut off from the beach stretched in a track of faint silvery brightness far athwart the lake.
Mrs.Kinnaird, however, was not watching the ripple flash beneath the moon, for her eyes were fixed on two dusky figures that moved through the shadow toward the water's edge.