“I have something to say to you first,” he said.
She did not answer. He looked over his shoulder again. His lordship
had disappeared.
“Do you mind if I smoke?”
She nodded. He filled his pipe carefully, and lighted it. The smoke
moved sluggishly up through the still air. There was a long silence.
A fish jumped close by, falling back in a shower of silver drops.
Molly started at the sound, and half-turned.
“That was a fish,” she said, as a child might have done.
Jimmy knocked the ashes out of his pipe.
“What made you do it?” he asked abruptly, echoing her own question.
She drew her fingers slowly through the water without speaking.
“You know what I mean. Dreever told me.”
She looked up with a flash of spirit, which died away as she spoke.
“What right?” She stopped, and looked away again.
“None,” said Jimmy. “But I wish you would tell me.”
She hung her head. Jimmy bent forward, and touched her hand.
“Don’t” he said; “for God’s sake, don’t! You mustn’t.”
“I must,” she said, miserably.
“You sha’n’t. It’s wicked.”
“I must. It’s no good talking about it. It’s too late.”
“It’s not. You must break it off to-day.”
She shook her head. Her fingers still dabbled mechanically in the
water. The sun was hidden now behind a gray veil, which deepened
into a sullen black over the hill behind the castle. The heat had
grown more oppressive, with a threat of coming storm.
“What made you do it?” he asked again.
“Don’t let’s talk about it … Please!”
He had a momentary glimpse of her face. There were tears in her
eyes. At the sight, his self-control snapped.
“You sha’n’t,” he cried. “It’s ghastly. I won’t let you. You must
understand now. You must know what you are to me. Do you think I
shall let you–?”
A low growl of thunder rumbled through the stillness, like the
muttering of a sleepy giant. The black cloud that had hung over the
hill had crept closer. The heat was stifling. In the middle of the
lake, some fifty yards distant, lay the island, cool and mysterious
in the gathering darkness.
Jimmy broke off, and seized the paddle.
On this side of the island was a boathouse, a little creek covered
over with boards and capable of sheltering an ordinary rowboat. He
ran the canoe in just as the storm began, and turned her broadside
on, so that they could watch the rain, which was sweeping over the
lake in sheets.
He began to speak again, more slowly now.
“I think I loved you from the first day I saw you on the ship. And,
then, I lost you. I found you again by a miracle, and lost you
again. I found you here by another miracle, but this time I am not
going to lose you. Do you think I’m going to stand by and see you
taken from me by–by–”
He took her hand.
“Molly, you can’t love him. It isn’t possible. If I thought you did,
I wouldn’t try to spoil your happiness. I’d go away. But you don’t.
You can’t. He’s nothing. Molly!”
The canoe rocked as he leaned toward her.
“Molly!”
She said nothing; but, for the first time, her eyes met his, clear
and unwavering. He could read fear in them, fear–not of himself, of
something vague, something he could not guess at. But they shone
with a light that conquered the fear as the sun conquers fire; and
he drew her to him, and kissed her again and again, murmuring
incoherently.
Suddenly, she wrenched herself away, struggling like some wild
thing. The boat plunged.
“I can’t,” she cried in a choking voice. “I mustn’t. Oh, I can’t!”
He stretched out a hand, and clutched at the rail than ran along the
wall. The plunging ceased. He turned. She had hidden her face, and
was sobbing, quietly, with the forlorn hopelessness of a lost child.
He made a movement toward her, but drew back. He felt dazed.
The rain thudded and splashed on the wooden roof. A few drops
trickled through a crack in the boards. He took off his coat, and