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Miss Bushell began quietly to embark. Uncle Van followed her example.

“Oh, Mr. Merceron, you’ll sink us!” cried Millie.

Charlie sat glum and silent. The situation beat him completely.

Uncle Van drew back. Millie seized the paddle and propelled the canoe out from the bank.

“You come round with me, Merceron,” called Sutton, and the two men turned to the path. “No,” added Victor. “Look here, we can climb round here,” and he pointed to the bank. There was a little narrow muddy track, but it was enough.

The canoe was half-way across; the two men–Victor leading at a good pace–were half-way round. Charlie glanced at the window of the temple and caught a fleeting glance of a despairing face. “If you love me, they mustn’t see me!”

“Here, give me the paddle!” he exclaimed, and reached forward for it.

“No, I can do it,” answered Millie, lifting the instrument out of his reach.

Charlie stepped forward–rather, he jumped forward, as a man jumps over a ditch. There was a shriek from Millie; the canoe swayed, tottered, and upset. In a confused mass, Millie Bushell and Charlie were hurled into the water. Victor and Uncle Van, hardly five yards from the steps, turned in amazement.

“Help! help!” screamed Millie.

“Help!” echoed Charlie. “I can’t hold her up. Victor, come and help me! Uncle Van, come along!”

“The devil!” murmured Uncle Van,

“Quick, quick!” called Charlie; and Victor, with a vexed laugh, peeled off his coat and jumped in. Mr. Vansittart stood with a puzzled air. Then a happy thought struck him. He turned and trotted back the way he had come. He would get a rope!

As he went, as Victor reached the stragglers in the water, a slim figure in white, with a smile on her face, stole cautiously from the temple and disappeared in the wood behind. Charlie saw her go, but he held poor Millie’s head remorselessly tight towards the other bank.

And that was the last he saw of the Lady of the Pool.

Millie Bushell landed, her dripping clothes clinging round her. Victor was shivering, for the evening had turned chilly. Uncle Van had a bit of rope from the boat-shed in his hand, and a doubtful smile on his face.

“We’d best get Miss Bushel home,” he suggested, and they started in gloomy procession. Charlie, in remorse, gave Millie his arm.

“Oh, how could you?” she murmured piteously. She was cold, she was wet, and she was sure that she looked frightful.

I–I didn’t do it on purpose, “Charlie blurted out eagerly.

“On purpose! Well, I suppose not,” she exclaimed, bewildered. Charlie flushed. Victor shot a swift glance at him.

Half-way home they met Mrs. Marland and the whole affair had to be explained to her. Charlie essayed the task.

“Still, I don’t see how you managed to upset the canoe,” observed Mrs. Marland.

“No more do I,” said Victor Sutton. Charlie gave it up.

“I’m so sorry, Millie,” he whispered. “You must try to forgive me.”

So, once again, the coast was left clear for Agatha Merceron, if she came that night. But, whether she did or not, the other Agatha came no more, and Charlie’s great resolve went unfulfilled. Yet the next evening he went: alone to the temple, and he found, lying on the floor, a little handkerchief trimmed with lace and embroidered with the name of “Agatha.” This he put in his pocket, thanking heaven that his desperate manoeuvre had kept the shrine inviolate the day before.

“Poor Millie!” said he. “But then I had to do it.”

“I hear,” remarked Lady Merceron a few days later, “that one of Mr. Prime’s friends has left him–not Willie’s young lady–the other.”

“Has she?” asked Charlie.

No one pursued the subject, and, after a moment’s pause, Mrs. Marland, who was sitting next to Charlie, asked him in a low voice whether he had been to the Pool that evening–.

“No,” answered Charlie. “I don’t go every night.”

“Oh, poor dear Miss Bushell!” laughed Mrs. Marland; and, when Charlie looked inquiringly at her, she shook her head.