Page:The New Arcadia (Tucker).djvu/308

298 for others lay about her slender white-robed figure, as she reclined beneath the snowy sail.

"Now I may trust my eyes to rest upon the scene of our happiness once more," she murmured. "I will approach within a mile and return."

She made fast the stern-sheet, and, still resting amongst her floral offerings, almost lost in a reverie of happy thoughts, glided unconsciously onward with tiller against her back and a lily in her hand, towards the village pier at the other end of the lake.

The birds skimmed curiously about the barque, whose lovely occupant was still—sleeping or in a faint—as the flower-laden barge drew towards the wattle shores.

Travers had returned, moody, despondent, and heartily ashamed of himself. He confessed to his father that he had betrayed the trust reposed in him. He had felt, he said, that under the circumstances his presence in the valley was rather a hindrance than otherwise to his brother-in-law. From colony to colony he had wandered. News of his mother's death had aroused him from his selfish inaction. He had "come to himself," and resolved to stand by his father's side and to atone by single-handed devotion for failure in the past.

It was the doctor's birthday. A quiet family picnic had been arranged, with the view of withdrawing him from labours to which, as a solace for pain, he was devoting every waking hour. The party drove to the spot where the creek debouched into the lake. The wattles were untouched, although on either side, beyond their fringe of gold, the gardens and homesteads ranged.

The Dowlings were talking to the doctor of Travers and his troubles. Mrs. Dowling was speaking of Gwyneth, and how unwittingly she had caused her pain, of how