XX
It was a long time before they left the spot where they had met. Unconsciously and unbidden, he turned back with her. They were silent. She could hear with extraordinary keenness every pebble that crunched under his feet but she dared not look at him. She had a strange sensation of suffocating in the open air. A rending fear shook her, yet even at that supreme moment she had a rush of lucidity, a remembrance of every word that Faunce had said.
He had been with Overton when he died—that much had been clearly understood by all; and now, when they knew that Overton was not dead, but had been rescued by the gallant English sailors who had followed so closely on his track, what explanation remained, what defense for Faunce?
“Where I was deserted and left to die!”
Overton’s words rang in Diane’s ears. Suspense was intolerable; she must know the truth, even if the truth meant ruin. She forced herself to speak.
“You said just now that you were deserted and left to die. Please tell me what you meant!”
There was a perceptible pause before he answered.
“Did I say that? I”—he hesitated—“I’ve nearly forgotten what I said.”
She managed to raise her eyes to his face, and was relieved to find that he was not looking at her. She felt like one lost in a trackless desert. She must find a way out of it; she could not give up, could not believe herself lost. If she did, she would perish. She forced herself to speak again.
“But I haven’t forgotten. How could I? Will you tell me?”