For another half mile, or so, the _Gwendoline_ is propelled onward,
though not running trimly; the fault being in her at the oars. With
thoughts still preoccupied, she now and then forgets her stroke, or
gives it unequally--so that the boat zig-zags from side to side, and,
but for a more careful hand at the tiller, would bring up against the
bank.
Observing her abstraction, as also her frequent turning to look down the
river--but without suspicion of what is causing it--Miss Lees at length
inquires,--
"What's the matter with you, Gwen?"
"Oh, nothing," she evasively answers, bringing back her eyes to the
boat, and once more giving attention to the oars.
"But why are you looking so often below? I've noticed you do so at
least a score of times."
If the questioner could but divine the thoughts at that moment in the
other's mind, she would have no need thus to interrogate, but would know
that below there is another boat with a man in it, who possesses that
unseen something, like ether or electricity, and to catch sight of whom
Miss Wynn has been so oft straining her eyes. She has not given all her
confidence to the companion.