Lizzie took her right hand from the scull it held, and touched her lips with it, and for a moment held it out lovingly towards him: then, without speaking, she resumed her rowing, as another boat of similar appearance, though in rather better trim, came out from a dark place and dropped softly alongside.

“In luck again, Gaffer?” said a man with a squinting leer, who sculled her and who was alone, “I know’d you was in luck again, by your wake as you come down.”

“Ah!” replied the other, drily. “So you’re out, are you?”

“Yes, pardner.”

There was now a tender yellow moonlight on the river, and the newcomer, keeping half his boat’s length astern of the other boat looked hard at its track.