American bluestocking on board the Constellation.
There was no escape, however. Mrs. Kinder
was evidently very much bent on her fancy, and
the professor was an indulgent husband. Thus I
was trepanned into giving a formal invitation;
and next morning we took on board fresh milk,
fruit, turkeys, doe venison, and Mr. and Mrs.
Kinder.

The day, early as it was, was hot and bright,
but Mrs. Kinder wore a great cloak with a hood,
closely resembling an Arab burnous, and kept
her veil down. As she ascended the yacht's
side, not without a good deal of assistance, I
could see hardly anything of her but the tip of her
nose. In the cabin, however, she took off her
wraps. I was surprised to see how very many
years she was younger than her husband:
although she, too, was short-sighted, and wore
spectacles. She was a handsome young woman,
in spite of the unbecoming manner in which her
glossy hair had been brushed back and hidden
away; her complexion was of the rich olive of
a Spanish girl; her features were well shaped;
and her teeth were wonderfully white and good
for those of a town-bred American lady. I
helped to get the anchor up, and to shake out
the brails of the mainsail, while old Bill bustled
with the unusually sumptuous breakfast, and
Eli, the lad, took the helm.

"Where to, captain?" asked the boy.

The trip was Mrs. Kinder's bespeak. Common
gallantry made me place the yacht at her entire
disposal. Her husband whispered to her, and
she timidly spoke:

"She should like," she said, "to coast along
the south-east shore, and stay awhile, if I
pleased, in that delightful bay, Hunter's Cove.
She longed to see the scenery there."

She said this in a slow awkward way, like a
child repeating a lesson. I saw the professor's
eyes twinkle; even his glasses could not hide
that. But I had given Mrs. Kinder her choice,
and must obey.

"Keep her well in shore," were my orders,
"and when you round the point of Hunter's
Cove, drop the lightest of the anchors. I know
the ground is good, and there's no current."

I cannot say that Mrs. Kinder contributed
much to the general amusement. She spoke
very little, and in a very low tone, and never
sure when addressed. Her health did not appear
to me in so bad a state as her husband's
anxious fears had prompted him to represent it.
But she was singularly shy, and averse to any
parade of her accomplishments. When I asked
her to favour us with a little instrumental
music—there was a piano on board—she gently
but decidedly refused. Nor did she seem to
care much for the scenery, or for any artistic,
literary, or scientific talk. But she was
evidently very anxious, quite nervously anxious,
to see the Hunter's Cove.

We had to hug the land closely, for the
freshening breeze did its best to impel us across to
the Canada shores; but the yacht behaved well,
and we could manage her fairly enough, on
condition of my taking the helm whenever Eli and
Bill were busy in trimming sail, or hauling at
tack and sheet. As for Bill, he seemed on this
particular day to be ubiquitous: clattering
saucepans at one moment, and next moment
setting more head-sail on the craft. Mr. Gartmore,
too, always obliging, often lent us the
aid of his strong arms; so we kept the schooner
well in hand, as she bounded like a mettled
horse over the steel-grey waves that foamed
around.

When we reached the bay which Mrs. Kinder
so longed to explore, it was almost dinner-time,
and it was agreed upon that we should postpone
landing until after our meal. The yacht was
moored in the still water, calm and clear as a
mill-pond, which the rocky headland fenced from
the waves and currents of the broad lake. Bill
called Eli to assist him in the critical process of
dishing the good things that had been simmering
on his stove in the caboose, and we sat down
to dinner in the cabin with something of the
gaiety which generally attends a pic-nic. Mrs.
Kinder seemed in better spirits. She said little,
her timidity quite overpowered her conversational
abilities, but she laughed now and then
at some mirthful remark—a very silvery little
laugh she had, and not by any means what one
would expect to hear from a Minerva in
spectacles.

Hunter's Cove is a very sequestered bay to be
so near towns and a well-peopled country, and
I have seldom seen a more lonely spot, with its
rough woodland and crumbling crags. Only one
dwelling was visible: a sort of log-hut, long and
low in structure, but tumbling in ruin. I had
seen this hovel before, and had been told by
a woodcutter that it was built for the
accommodation of a lumbering party, many years
before. It showed no signs of human habitation;
but as the wind waved the tall reeds in a
neighbouring creek, I caught a glimpse of
something like a large boat, cracked and weather-
beaten, yet afloat. Of this, however, I thought
very little. The bay might be the resort of
fishermen, or others; as for the boat, it had
probably been left there as unserviceable. We
sat down to dinner, broaching some old hock
and champagne in honour of the occasion. The
corks popped, and the conversation was gay
and agreeable. I had never seen Gartmore
in such spirits. Professor Kinder, too, seemed
another man—he was so much brighter and
better; while his sick wife, saying little, could
still laugh and seem pleased. Once or twice
it occurred to me that Gartmore's spirits
were almost too high to be natural; he was
loud, jovial, almost boisterous, but every now
and then he would stop short in the flow of talk
and mirth, bend forward, and seem to listen.
Then, he would be as cheery and noisy as
ever. Once or twice I could have sworn that,
through their spectacles, Mrs. Kinder's great
dark eyes were fixed on me in a half-alarmed,
half-mournful manner; but the moment she met
my glance, the expression vanished.

"No more wine, thank you," said the lady,
as I offered again to fill her glass.