After a restless night he walked down to the beach for a swim, and left Simon and Peter to guard the dell. As he passed through the Gates of Dawn, at the hour of sunrise, he beheld Meg coming up from the seashore. Again the golden glory of the day burned behind her, but she no longer sang, nor did she dance before the sun like Aurora. On the contrary, her eyes were downcast, her face sorrowful, and she attempted to pass Dan without a greeting. The omission vexed him, and he blocked her path by standing before her. Courtesy forbade her to force her way past him, so she paused irresolutely, and looked at him reproachfully. Astonished at this unusual behaviour, and rightly ascribing it to the influence of Miss Linisfarne, Dan was the first to speak. He wasted no time in idle talk, but went straight to the point.
"Meg!" he said, looking at her anxiously, "what is the matter? Have I offended you, that you would pass me by as a stranger?"
"I have nothing to say," she murmured. "Let me pass, please."
"Not till you tell me how I have been so unfortunate as to offend you."
"You have not offended me. I have no right to control your actions."
"Then Miss Linisfarne has poisoned your mind against me."
Meg lifted her eyes, and looked at him sorrowfully. Boldly as she had defended him when absent, she could not help believing that there was some truth in the assertions of Miss Linisfarne. Dan she had only known for a few months, while Miss Linisfarne was the close friend of years, therefore it was only natural she should attach more weight to the assertions of the latter than to those of the former. Experience only can instruct as to the proper estimate of a friendship.
"Miss Linisfarne told me all," she said, with great dignity.
"All what?"
"Can you ask me?" replied Meg, reproachfully. "Does not your memory recall your words and acts?"