The brisk air of early autumn made the blood tingle in Guida's cheeks.Her eyes were big with light and enjoyment. Her hair was caught close bya gay cap of her own knitting, but a little of it escaped, making apretty setting to her face.

The boat rode under all her courses, until, as Jean said, they had putthe last lace on her bonnet. Guida's hands were on the tiller firmly,doing Jean's bidding promptly. In all they were five. Besides Guida andRanulph, Jean and Jean's wife, there was a youthful English clergyman of theparish of St. Michael's, who had come from England to fill the place ofthe rector for a few months. Word had been brought to him that a man wasdying on the Ecrehos. He had heard that the boat was going, he had foundJean Touzel, and here he was with a biscuit in his hand and a black-jackof French wine within easy reach. Not always in secret the ReverendLorenzo Dow loved the good skinnygs of this world.