She plied him with questions, but he would not answer her. Truth to tell, he had not yet made up his mind what to do; he seemed to see her, in imagination, drifting again out of his life—refusing to receive any explanation that he could offer. He whispered of his love for her—of all that they might do together in some impossible future, when they should have been rescued from that place. She listened with only a vague understanding of what he said; doubts were in her mind already as to what was happening, and why it should be necessary to keep her in ignorance concerning her father. She loved Gilbert—she thought she understood him; but passionately she declared to herself that she had been tricked once, and she would not be tricked again. She strove hard to keep an open mind; strove to remind herself that what he did was done for her sake, and out of his love for her. But he had sworn to tell her the truth always, and to cheat her no more; and to that he must keep steadfastly. There must be no second path.
Meanwhile, a series of personally conducted tours were taking place, under the guidance of Pringle. To Pringle each party appeared—and to him each party appealed. Mrs. Stocker, leading the obedient Stocker, demanded to be shown the way; the obliging Pringle, feeling that here at last was a solution of the great difficulty, willingly conducted the pair round the rocks—and pointed the way. He watched them climbing where Aubrey had climbed but a little time before—incongruous-looking figures, facing the dawn and going back into the world. Also he carried in his mind, as a message not to be delivered, certain parting words spoken by Mrs. Stocker.
"You may tell your master," that lady had said at the last moment, "that I am not likely to forget the position in which he has placed a lady who has hitherto been able to hold up her head with the very best in the most select part of Clapham. I am not sure that my husband will not lay the matter before his solicitors, with a view to a claim for damages. Do you understand?"
"I will bear it in mind, ma'am," said Pringle humbly.
"I am given to understand that we are probably on the western coast of Ireland, which is much the same as being cast among savages," went on the lady. "In any case the return fare to Clapham Junction (the station nearest our home), to say nothing of garments to be purchased, will be considerable; a claim shall be duly posted to your master, and must be met forthwith. So far as moral damage is concerned, I will consult with my husband, as I have suggested, and Mr. Byfield will doubtless receive a communication in due course."
"Very good, ma'am," said Pringle. "Go straight across, ma'am, and keep to the road. Nice little village, and pleasant people. Good morning!"
Pringle was turning away, not troubling for once to conceal his laughter, when he was met by the second party, consisting of Mr. Jordan Tant, Mrs. Ewart-Crane, and Enid. Pringle straightened his face, and gave them at once a cheerful but respectful greeting.
"Good morning, sir," he said to Tant. "Are you taking a walk, sir?"
"We are leaving this place, if it is at all possible," broke in Mrs. Ewart-Crane. "You can no longer deceive us, my good man."
"Not for the world, ma'am," said Pringle. "In fact, if you hurry a bit, there's just a chance you may be able to get across before the tide turns. Nice village, sir, just over the bridge; cheerful people. This way, sir."