"My brother and I often row together," she said; "I will take your
place."
When she had seated herself we were so near that her eyes looked
directly into mine. Drawing in the oars, she leaned upon them and
smiled.
"Now, then," she commanded, "tell us all about it."
Before I could speak there came from behind her a sudden radiance, and
as though a curtain had been snatched aside, the fog flew apart, and the
sun, dripping, crimson, and gorgeous, sprang from the waters. From the
others there was a cry of wonder and delight, and from Lord Ivy a shriek
of incredulous laughter.
Lady Moya clapped her hands joyfully and pointed past me. I turned and
looked. Directly behind me, not fifty feet from us, was a shelving beach
and a stone wharf, and above it a vine-covered cottage, from the chimney
of which smoke curled cheerily. Had the yawl, while Lady Moya was taking
the oars, _not_ swung in a circle, and had the sun _not_ risen, in three
minutes more we would have bumped ourselves into the State of
Connecticut. The cottage stood on one horn of a tiny harbor. Beyond it,
weather-beaten shingled houses, sail-lofts, and wharfs stretched cosily
in a half-circle.
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