"Yep," was the reply. "She's playing she's a castaway. Nobody but me knows it."
Then, fearing he had said too much, John-Ed ran away.
Tunis descended the bluff by a perilous path—he would not delay to go around by the cart track—and came in plain view of the cabin. The door hinge had been repaired, and the door now swung freely. A strip of cotton cloth had been tacked over the gaping window. There was that neatness about the abandoned cabin which must always be associated in his mind with Sheila Macklin, even had he not seen her sitting pensively upon a driftwood timber by the door.
The ax had been doing good service, for there was a great heap of wood cut into stove lengths. The fragrant odor of something—chowder, perhaps—simmering on the stove, floated through the open door.
It was the coarse sand crunching under his boots which aroused her. She did not start at his approach, but raised her eyes languidly. He wondered if she had expected him. She must have seen the Seamew pass several hours earlier as they headed in toward the channel.
"My God, Sheila!" he exclaimed with bitterness, but without anger. "You can't stay here."
"I must—for a while. No. Don't talk about it, please, Tunis." Her gesture had a finality to it which silenced the objections rising to his lips. "Nothing you can say will change my determination. And you must not come here again."
"What will people say?" he gasped.
The violet eyes blazed suddenly while she surveyed him. This was not the girl he had known before. At least, she was not the same as when he had seen her last. Even at that previous interview her look and manner had not so reminded him of the girl he had sat beside on the bench on Boston Common.
She was alone again. The flower of her nature that had expanded while she lived her all too brief and happy life with the Balls was now withered. She was hopeless again; she had become once more the Sheila Macklin that he had met under such wretched circumstances at that past time. But in spite of her helplessness and her wretchedness, there was something in the girl's expression which convinced Tunis Latham before he again spoke that nothing he could say would in any degree change her determination.