"And so I am the good old squaw?" said the lady.
"For all that I can see in the darkness."
"But that makes me better than the many who lie below;--the squaw was good, you remember. But how did she get off of the island? Pity tradition didn't tell us. Loon's Island, in Lake Mashapaug in Killingly, wasn't it?"
A little silence came, broken by the words,--
"It's so long since I have been with you!"
"Yes, and it's time that I was gone."
"Not a few moments more?--not even to go back to the old subject?"
"No,--it's wrong,--it perils you. You put away your sin when you come to the little drop of my love; go and hide it forever in the sea that every hour washes at your feet."
"You'll write?"
"I will."