Guy had moved quietly away. She saw that the Witch had swung on the tide. She watched him weigh the anchor and get the boat under way with a curious fear in her heart; a fear for herself. In looks, in bearing, in his manner, he was every inch a man, a man that she loved. But he was a thief, the thief who had treacherously robbed the man who had been a father to her, a thief for whom the police were searching, a thief who might any day stand in the dock as a felon.
"Guy is a thief! a thief! a thief!" She had to repeat the words to herself again and again lest she should forget. Yes, he had been quite right, she could never marry a thief. She supposed that she ought to be thankful to him for having told her before she had married him. She would have married him if he had not told her. But he was wrong in saying that he could not steal her love. He had stolen it. If she had known from the first she would never have given her heart to him. But he had come and taken it away, and now that he had given it back to her——
Guy had come to the tiller. She roused herself and looked into his face.
"It is not true that you did not steal my love," she said. "You took my heart from me, and you have broken it, and now you bring me back the pieces and say you did not steal it." She spoke dispassionately, as one who would argue the point.
Guy wondered at the tone until he saw the dazed look in the girl's eyes.
"Meriel," he cried, "for God's sake don't look at me like that. Say something, anything, if only it were to curse me. I had to tell you, even though I knew that the telling would end my life's happiness."
"I had no reason to think that you were anything but an honourable man. I had never mixed with any but honourable men, and so I suppose I was deceived," she answered wearily. "I don't suppose I ought to blame you."
She turned away, and going forward leaned upon the staff-rack where she was hidden from his sight by the intervening sail. Tears had come to her relief at last.
The boat drifted on with the tide. The sky was becoming overcast and away in the north a heavy bunch of clouds was gathering. A sudden breeze ruffled the surface of the water, and died away as swiftly as it arose. A puff filled the sails. It came from the south, another puff followed it from another quarter, heading the Witch so that the sails flapped wildly. Guy had barely brought her up to the wind before it veered again to the south. The Witch leaned over under the pressure, and, gathering way, set the foam swirling under her bows. As the squall strengthened the Witch began to talk, and Guy cast an anxious look aloft. The squall died away and once more the boat drifted. But the ten minutes' breeze had brought them near home. They were amongst the other boats moored in the river opposite the quay.
Meriel had not moved from her place forward. Her tears had ceased to flow. In a few more minutes she would have said good-bye to Guy and to love. She looked up. The Witch was drifting past Mr. Hildebrand Flurscheim's yacht, and the connoisseur was on the deck. Meriel recognised him at the same moment that she was recognised. "Good afternoon, Miss Challys. Look out for the storm, Mr. Hora," cried Flurscheim.