"I am grateful; I am so grateful," faltered the girl's voice; "but you must not be seen here. Please go now!" I had taken her hands, feeling that I was about to lose her; but she freed them and stood away from me in the shadow.
"We are going away—we must leave here! I can never see you again," she whispered.
In the starlight she was Helen, by every test my senses could make; but by something deeper I knew that she was not the girl I had seen in the window at St. Agatha's. She was more dependent, less confident and poised; she stifled a sob and came close. Through the window I saw Arthur Holbrook climbing up to blow out the last light.
"I could have watched myself, but I was afraid that sailor might come; and it was he that fired at you in the road. He had gone to Glenarm to watch you and keep you away from here. Uncle Henry came back to-day and sent word that he wanted to see my father, and I asked you to come to help us."
"I thank you for that."
"And there was another man—a stranger, back there near the road; I could not make him out, but you will be careful,—please! You must think very ill of me for bringing you into all this danger and trouble."
"I am grateful to you. Please turn all your troubles over to me."
"You did what I asked you to do," she said, "when I had no right to ask, but I was afraid of what might happen here. It is all right now and we are going away; we must leave this place."
"But I shall see you again."
"No! You have—you have—Helen. You don't know me at all! You will find your mistake to-morrow."