like a challenge and a threat than like somebody whistling hopefully to
keep up his courage?
The question irresistibly emerged. Carlisle's slim fingers furled and
unfurled the end of her mermaiden's scarf, and she looked up at the tall
stranger in the dusk and sweetly spoke for the third time.
"But I don't understand. If he has told you all about it, I--I don't see
why you have come to me at all."
Then the man appeared to recollect that he had omitted the most
important part of his narrative--of course she didn't understand, no
wonder!--and spoke with some eagerness.
"I should have explained that in the beginning!--only of course I don't
like to trespass too far on your time.... You see--unfortunately--Dal's
hardly in position to speak about the matter at all. I--"
He paused, as if seeking how to put it, and then spoke these
doubt-destroying words:
"It is very perplexing, but the truth is--he says so himself--he doesn't
know at all what took place."
"Oh!... _He doesn't know_!"
"I don't wonder you're astonished at his saying so," said the young man,
in quite a gentle way. "And yet I do believe him absolutely...."
He now explained, in well-selected phrases, that Jack Dalhousie had been
very drunk when he boarded the boat, having taken a running start on the
evening preceding. Though he might have seemed normal enough, through
long experience in control, he was actually quite irresponsible; and
drink had played strange tricks with his mind before now. The boy could
remember getting into the boat, it seemed; remember that--ah--that she
had objected (very properly) to his presence; remember standing up in
the boat, very angry, and the wind blowing in his face. The next thing
he remembered was being in the water, swimming away. And then, when he
landed, a man standing there on shore cursed him and struck him in the
face.... Then he had looked out over the water; he saw the upset
sailboat and the boatman rowing out, and the people, and it rushed over
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