“Someone is shadowing us,” Lucile whispered.
“Looks that way.”
“Who is it?”
“Someone from the cottage perhaps. Watching to see what the child does with the book. She must take it back.”
“Yes, she must.”
“It might be,” and here even stout-hearted Florence shuddered, “it might be that someone had shadowed us all the way from the city.”
“The one who followed me the night I got caught in that wretched woman’s house, and other times?”
“Yes.”
“But he couldn’t have gone all the way, not up to the cottage. He couldn’t get through the fence and there was no other boat.”
“Well, anyway, whoever it is, we must go on. Won’t do any good standing here shivering.”