“But, Julie dear, tell me,” cried Cynthia, whose face was flushed and angry; “tell me—”
“No, no. Not now. Not now. Let us get back to the hotel. I dare not stay here.”
Artingale and Cynthia exchanged glances, as they led the frightened girl out from amidst the piled-up rocks into the broad sunshine, and then slowly along the sandy portions of the beach, with the result that she gradually became more calm, but she checked at once the slightest effort made by her sister to gain any information. Even when, at a sign from Cynthia, Artingale drew back, she did not speak, but turned timidly and waited for him to come alongside.
“Don’t leave me, Harry,” she said plaintively; so he joined them again, and walked with the sisters right up to the hotel, where Julia now seemed to have grown more herself; but there was that in her countenance which set Artingale thinking very deeply, and as soon as he had parted from the sisters, he went straight to James Magnus, whom he found in his room seated by the open window, and gazing out to sea.
Part 2, Chapter III.
Playing Detective.
“I say, old fellow, I’ve got some news for you that ought to make you well in half-an-hour,” exclaimed Artingale.
“What’s that?” said Magnus, eagerly.