'You are right, no—I believe this is no-man's-land, and that which my father owned and your mother bought does not include this thicket. If it be hers now, she must have laid out some more of that mysteriously-got money to purchase it from some other proprietor.'
'Mysteriously-got money,' said Winefred angrily. 'Speak openly, or say nothing.'
'I have my thoughts.'
'Yes,' said the girl; 'you, bred in dishonesty, a sneaking, night-prowling smuggler, who would have been kicking his heels in prison at this present hour but for me, one such as you thinks that none can have money which has not been crookedly hooked in.'
'Have done, Winefred, I owe you something.'
'We are quits. You helped me out of the cave, but I could have scratched my way forth without your aid, and I warned you and helped you to slip out of the net spread to take you. You owe me nothing, and I owe you nothing. The account is settled between us. I do not desire to be indebted to a smuggler. You, like all the rest, wonder that your father left nothing when he died. But ill-gotten gold makes itself wings.'
'In that case all my father's gold will come swarming out of your mother's pocket, like ants on an August day when they get their wings and desert their heap.'
'You are a coward, to insult a defenceless woman,' said Winefred passionately. Her face paled with anger, and she turned sharply and ran away.
Jack swung himself after her, caught her by the arm and flung her back into an elder-bush.
'You little fool,' he said, 'you were dashing right over the brink. You see, whether you will or no, you must owe something to me.'