"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 G.o.d"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 placed it gently over her shoulders.
"Molly!"
She looked up with wet eyes.
"Molly, dear, what is it?"
"I mustn"t. It isn"t right."
"I don"t understand."
"I mustn"t, Jimmy."
He moved cautiously forward, holding the rail, till he was at her side, and took her in his arms.
"What is it, dear? Tell me."
She clung to him without speaking.
"You aren"t worrying about him, are you--about Dreever? There"s nothing to worry about. It"ll be quite easy and simple. I"ll tell him, if you like. He knows you don"t care for him; and, besides, there"s a girl in London that he--"
"No, no. It"s not that."
"What is it, dear? What"s troubling you?"
"Jimmy--" She stopped.
He waited.
"Yes?"