CHAPTER XI.
"MY SON DICK." Never had there been a more perfect night than that whereon Dick Hardcastle's coming of age was celebrated.

Only enough wind stirred to toy softly with the gay little pennons streaming from the many boats winding their way to the rendezvous, and to throw dancing shadows of light upon the water from the torches at their prow.

All along the banks of the lake, where high hills shut out the moonlight and bound the shore in an almost Egyptian darkness, rafts were stationed at intervals, blazing with colored lights.

The sound of distant music floated far down upon the air, mingled with the swish of steady oars and laughter and happy voices as the occupants of the various boats called out merrily to each other across the water, or here and there broke into light-hearted song.

Denham's boat glided stilly along through all this carnival-like revelry.