After an early lunch they started. The heat was greater than ever, but Guy was heedless of it. He pulled at the oars as if physical exertion was a panacea for a troubled mind. Meriel, watching him from the stern as the dingey cut the water, rejoiced in his strength. At least her lover was a man.
She wondered greatly what was on his mind. She was no petticoated ignoramus of the world. She knew that men were sometimes caught in feminine entanglements, and were sometimes even ashamed of their folly. It might be that Guy had been so caught, and felt in honour bound to acquaint her with his difficulty. She did not want to hear. It was quite sufficient that he should desire that she should know the worst of him. When he spoke she would stop him. She was quite sure, even as she had said on the previous evening, that nothing that had happened in the past could make any difference.
The Witch rode to her anchor, with her stern pointing to the sea, for the tide was still ebbing when they reached her side.
Meriel felt Guy's hand tremble as it clasped hers to assist her aboard. She knew that the time had come when Guy would speak. She could have cried aloud to him to remain forever silent, for a fear came upon her that it was no youthful indiscretion which her companion proposed to reveal, but something vital to their joint happiness, something searing to their love. She put the thought aside. Her love was her life: more, for it would endure after life itself had departed.
"Are you listening, Meriel?" asked Guy a little later.
He had set the mainsail, and in the shadow it cast on deck he had arranged cushions for her. She looked up at him in mute answer.
"Meriel, don't look at me, your eyes will make a coward of me," he said. "Look out on the horizon. Do you see the white sail yonder? That boat is coming on the first of the tide. By the time she reaches us you will have no wish to look upon me again."
She denied the statement vehemently.
"I know what I have to tell you," he answered steadily. "But first I should like you to know something of the beliefs in which I was brought up."
He told her first of Lynton Hora's enmity with the world, told her of his philosophy, of his conception of mankind as a fortuitous aggregation of warring atoms, each hypocritically desirous of concealing his real intent from his neighbours.