"Well, that was kind of you—and audacious. Were you not afraid of his overtaking you? The Umpire is not the swiftest of sailors, you used to say; and you know there are telegraphs and railways to all the ports."
"He did not know you were in the Umpire, Gerty. But of course, if he were very anxious about you, he would write or come to Dare. I should not be surprised if he were there now."
A quick look of surprise and gladness sprang to her face.
"Papa—at Castle Dare!" she exclaimed. "And Christina says it is not far from here."
"Not many miles away."
"Then, of course, they will know we are here in the morning!" she cried, in the indiscretion of sudden joy. "And they will come out for me."
"Oh no, Gerty, they will not come out for you. No human being but those on board knows that we are here. Do you think they could see you from Dare? And there is no one living now on the island. We are alone in the sea."
The light died away from her face; but she said, cheerfully enough,—
"Well, I am at your mercy, then, Keith. Let us take it that way. Now you must tell me what part in the comedy you mean me to play; for the life of me I can't make it out."
"Oh, Gerty, Gerty, do not speak like that!" he exclaimed. "You are breaking my heart! Is there none of the old love left? Is it all a matter for jesting?"