The girl shifted her eyes from his face to the path of moon beams in which Leonard's boat floated far off like a dark speck against the ripples of light. When she went on, it was in a lower tone, with a note in her voice which Flint had never heard there before,—the note of appeal.
"I am going to ask you a very strange thing," she said; "I would not ask it if I could see any other way."
"Surely, Miss Anstice, you cannot doubt my willingness to oblige you in any way. You have only to command me."
"But it is not to oblige me. It is—oh, dear! I can't explain, but I want you to go away."
Flint rose instantly.
"No, no, not away from this spot, but from Nepaug. That's it," she went on insistently; "I want you to leave Nepaug."
Flint stared at her for a moment, as if in doubt whether to question her sanity or her seriousness. The latter he could not doubt, as he looked at her eager attitude, her hands tightly interlaced, her head bent a little forward, and a spot of deep red sharply outlined on either cheek. Suddenly the meaning of her conversation with Leonard flashed across his mind; but it brought only further puzzlement. He motioned Winifred to sit down upon the great tree which lay its length on the earth, overthrown by the last storm, and with stones and upturned dirt still clinging to its branching roots.
"Are you sure," he said gravely, as he took a seat beside her,—"are you sure that you are doing right to keep me in the dark?"
"I think so; I hope so."