“This is just what I like,” said Cynthia. “There, I’ve made one of my feet wet. Never mind; sea water does not give colds. Isn’t it a grand bit of coast, Julie? But, I say, suppose Bogey was to pop up now from behind one of those great pieces of rock. Oh, how stupid I am. Julie: darling sister, don’t faint.”
“No, no. I am better,” exclaimed Julia, across whose face a spasm of dread had darted.
“It was dreadfully silly of me, dear, but don’t you mind what I said. Why, Julie, we are as safe here as if we were in our own rooms. Nobody could come down those cliffs, and I feel sure that you will never see that creature again. There, be a woman. He could not tell that we were down here. Now, could he?”
“Cynthia,” said Julia, after a few moments’ pause, and as she spoke she gazed straight out to sea, “shall you think me very weak and foolish if I tell you what I think?”
“No, no, of course not,” said Cynthia, glancing furtively about, “only do try to be more firm.”
“I do try,” said Julia, with a catching of the breath, “so hard—so very hard; but that man seems to be my fate, and I feel now that go where I may, or do what I may, he is always close at hand watching for me. Even now I expect to see him waiting by some of these rocks.”
“Nonsense! foolish girl,” said Cynthia.
“And that, strive as I will, he will some day take me away.”
“What!” cried Cynthia, laughing merrily, “take you away!”
“Yes, dear,” said her sister, solemnly. “I feel it. I am sure of it.”