"I hope not, for of all silly children, that boy was the silliest, and he deserved to be blown up for his want of common sense," cried the girl, petulantly.
"Obedience is an old-fashioned virtue, which you would do well to cultivate along with your common sense, young lady."
Sylvia changed the subject, for Warwick stood regarding her with an irate expression that was somewhat alarming. Fanning herself with the wet hat, she asked abruptly—
"Was the man hurt, sir?"
"Yes."
"Very much?"
"Yes."
"Can I not do something for him? He is very far from any house, and I have some experience in wounds."
"He is past all help, above all want now."
"Dead, Mr. Warwick?"
"Quite dead."
Sylvia sat down as suddenly as she had risen, and covered her face with a shiver, remembering that her own wilfulness had tempted a like fate, and she too, might now have been 'past help, above all want.' Warwick went down to the pool to bathe his hot face and blackened hands; as he returned Sylvia met him with a submissive—
"I will go back now if you are ready, sir."
If the way had seemed long in coming it was doubly so in returning, for neither pride nor perversity sustained her now, and every step cost an effort. "I can rest in the boat," was her sustaining thought; great therefore was her dismay when on reaching the river no boat was to be seen.
"Why, Mr. Warwick, where is it?"
"A long way down the river by this time, probably.
