sitter, no paint, no inscription, no appliance beyond a rusty boat-hook and a coil of rope, and he could not be a water-man; his boat was too crazy and too small to take in a cargo for delivery, and he could not be a lighterman or a river-carrier; there was no clue to what he looked for, but he looked for something, with a most intent and searching gaze. The tide, which had turned an hour before, was running down, and his eyes watched every little race and eddy in its broad sweep, as the boat made slight head-way against it, or drove stern foremost before it, according as he directed his daughter by a movement of his head. She watched his face as earnestly as she watched the river. But, in the intensity of her look there was a touch of dread or horror.
"'Keep her out, Lizzie. Tide runs strong here. Keep her well afore the sweep of it.'
"Trusting to the girl's skill and making no use of the rudder, he eyed the coming tide with an absorbed attention. So the girl eyed him. But, it happened now, that a slant of light from the setting sun glanced into the bottom of the boat, and, touching a rotten stain there which bore some resemblance to the outline of a muffled human form, coloured it as though with diluted blood. This caught the girl's eye, and she shivered.
"'What ails you?' said the man, immediately aware of it, though so intent on the advancing waters; 'I see nothing afloat.'
"The red light was gone, the shudder was gone, and his gaze, which had come back to the boat for a moment, travelled away again.…