The girl recognized the restraint in his tone.
“You think I am unjust, ungrateful,” she protested earnestly, “but, believe me, I am not. I want only to impress upon you to be careful and to show you where you stand.”
“With whom?” asked Roddy.
“With my mother and Vega and with their party.”
“I am more interested,” said Roddy, “in knowing how I stand with you.”
The girl answered quietly: “Oh, we are friends. And you know that I am deeply grateful to you because I know what you are trying to do, the others do not.”
“Suppose we tell them?” said Roddy.
The girl gave a quick exclamation of protest, and Roddy could hear rather than see her move from him. They were now quite alone. Lest any one coming from the house should discover Roddy, Pedro had been on guard at the gate. But he had seen, both above and below the wharf, mysterious, moonlit figures loitering at the edge of the water, and in order to investigate them he left his post. There was a moment of silence. On three sides the moonlight turned the tiny waves into thousands of silver mirrors, and from farther up the curving coast-line the fires in the wickerwork huts of the fishermen burned red. At their feet the water was thick with the phosphorescence, shining more brilliantly than the moonlight. And, as schools of minnows fled, darting and doubling on their course before some larger fish that leaped and splashed in pursuit, the black depths of the harbor were lit with vivid streaks, and the drops of water cast into the air flashed like sparks from an anvil.
A harbor shark, nosing up stealthily to the wharf, thought himself invisible, but the phosphorescence showed his great length and cruel head as clearly as though he wore a suit of flame.
“Suppose you tell them?” repeated Roddy.