"Let us go over to the cave to-morrow afternoon," he said, "I've something to tell you." It was the first step toward the right, and he felt better for having taken it. When they were crossing the mile of undulating ledges separating the village from this lonely gorge, Winn, carrying the little green bag and leading Mona like a child around the rocks, experienced a strangely sweet feeling of protection and care for her, and with it came the determination to utter no more of the cutting speeches so natural to him.
"I may not be here much longer," he thought, "and it shall be a pleasant afternoon for her to recall when I am gone."
And be it said here that when a man feels that way toward a woman, love's silken cord has been knotted about his heart. When they reached the niche, at the head of the gorge, a surprise awaited Winn, for its floor was carpeted thick with freshly gathered ferns, and bunches of wild roses and clusters of red berries were thrust into each crevice.
"What good fairy has been here ahead of us?" exclaimed Winn as he looked at the charming nook. "Was it you, Mona?"
"It must have been one of your mermaids," she answered prettily, "and our coming has frightened her away."
"One who plays the violin, I imagine," he answered smiling, "and has raven tresses instead of sea-green."
But when Mona was seated and he opposite reclined on the fresh green carpet, he was in no hurry to tell his story, and for reason. The spot, with its wild grandeur of cliff wall on one side, the other gently sloping and broadening down to where the white-crested billows leaped in among the weed-draped rocks, was beyond all question the most picturesque bit of coast scenery he had ever seen. And now it seemed endowed with a newer charm. Here he was, hidden away from all the wide world and almost from himself, with Nature at her grandest and the limitless ocean voicing eternity at his feet. For a little time he watched the white-crested billows tossing the rockweed and brown kelpie aloft as they swept into the gorge with a solemn roar. Somehow, just then, it seemed to him as if he and Mona were alone with God, and the world was young, and life all before him. And at this moment he forgot all his troubles, and the price of Rockhaven stock seemed of less account than the ferns he sat upon.
"This spot makes a better man of me, Mona," he said at last, "and to-day it lifts me into the frame of mind that the church bells always do at eventide. I am not a believer such as you people here are who join the church. I am only of the world, worldly, embittered somewhat by experience and therefore rather distrustful. And yet here it all disappears, and only God seems good to me." Then he paused, looking out on the wide ocean once more while Mona watched him with wistful eyes, wondering what odd speech would fall from his lips next.
"I asked you to come here to-day, little girl," he said at last, "to tell you the story of my life and what has made me as I am. You have been kind and tender and patient with my whims, your mother has opened her door to me, your uncle has trusted me and been my friend, your minister and many others have been kind to me also, and in all ways a welcome to me and my errand here has been extended. And now I will tell my story." And tell it all he did, not even omitting Ethel Sherman. All the years he had been a menial in Weston & Hill's office, his associates the while and their influence, and then this new departure in life with all its hopes and ambitions, to end in a fog of doubt and suspense. When the recital was ended he felt better; how Mona felt her words can best indicate.
"I am glad you trust me so much," she said, "and I wish I could say a word that would help you. Uncle Jess's advice must be for the best." And then an intuition that all this meant Winn's leaving the island soon brought a shadow over her face. For a little time the two sat in silence, unconscious of the wild romance of the nook or the ceaseless monotone of the ocean just below.