"Gone? Where the devil have they gone?" demanded Quarle, staring open-mouthed at Byfield. "I want to understand. Where could they go to?"
Gilbert turned to the girl; there could be no further delay.
"Bessie," he began gently—"you must understand that this place is not, as we thought, an island at all. At low tide it is connected with the mainland—and that mainland is, I believe, Ireland. Your father found that out, and was one of the first to go back into civilization; the others have discovered the secret, and have followed him. I did not know until—until a day or two ago that this place was not an island. I have been perfectly honest with you—up to that time."
She did not take her eyes from his face; a chill drop of doubt seemed to fall upon her heart, and to deaden it. She got to her feet and walked away; the two men, watching her, saw her suddenly stop, and drop her face in her hands. Gilbert sprang to his feet, and Simon Quarle scrambled up also.
"Bessie!" cried the younger man; and again as he got nearer to her—"Bessie!"
She turned swiftly, and dropped her hands at her sides, and faced him. "And all these people know now that the thing has been a cheat—a lie from the beginning. Just as we played at make-believe at your house at Fiddler's Green—just as we played at make-believe on the yacht—so we've played at make-believe here. Is that true?"
He took a step towards her, and laid his hands upon her shoulders; he felt her stiffen under his touch.
"Bessie—my dear, dear girl—it's true—but it wasn't my fault this time. I did indeed believe that we were cast away here; I hadn't the remotest notion of where we were at all. Then, when at last—only a few days ago, comparatively speaking—I found out that we could get back into civilization so easily, I determined that I would keep the game alive a little longer——"