"Because," she replied bluntly, "Uncle Jess says country-born people are usually honest and can be trusted."
Winn was silent, and as he looked at this simple island girl, so unaffected and winsome, a new admiration came for her. "Give her a chance," he thought, "and she would hold her own with Ethel Sherman even."
"That is true," he said aloud, after a pause, thinking only of his own business experience, "and the longer I remain here, the less I wish to return to the city. I feel as your worthy uncle does, and for good reasons. With the exception of an aunt, who has made a home for me, the women whom I met there were not to be trusted, nor the men either. When I left the old farm I was too young to understand people, but now that I do, I often long for the old associates of my boyhood, and if my business here becomes successful, I shall never go back to the city."
A look of gladness lit up the girl's face.
"I feel vexed over my business," continued Winn, longing to confide his troubles to Mona and looking down into the dark mussel-coated chasm left by the ebbing tide close by where they sat, "but I presume I shall come out all right."
Then, as he glanced up at the roofless wall of the old mill just back of them, its window openings showing the dark interior, he thought of the girl who, a century ago, had come there to end her heartache and whose story was fresh in his mind.
"Come, Mona," he said tenderly, as a sigh escaped him, "it's time we returned to the village, for I am going to meeting to-night with you and your mother." And all the long mile of sandy roadway that lay between the mill and Rockhaven was traversed in almost unbroken silence.
Though far apart as yet, they were nearer to one another than ever before.