"As brother and sister?"
"No—not as brother and sister. We are children no longer. But, Jonas, I have no wish, no thought other than that he should leave Thursley, and that I should never, never, never see his face again. Of thought, of word, of act against my duty to you I am guiltless. Of thoughts, as far as I have been able to hold my thoughts in chains, of words, of acts I have nothing to reproach myself with, there have been none but what might be known to you, in a light clearer than that poured down by this moon. You will believe me, Jonas."
He looked searchingly into her beautiful, pale face—now white as snow in the moonlight. After a long pause, he answered, "I do not believe you."
"I can say no more," she spoke and sighed, and went forward.
He now lagged behind.
They stepped off the sand ridge, and were again in treacherous soil, neither land nor water, but land and water tossed together in strips and tags and tatters.
"Go on," he said. "I will step after you."
Presently she looked behind her, and saw him swinging his right hand, in which was the lump of ironstone.
"Why do you turn your head?" he asked.
"I look for you."