"I beg your pardon, Ethel," he said humbly, "I was only thinking of the long ago, and forgot what I was then."
"You need not," she replied, turning away. "I only am to blame, but--it hurt--from you."
Then, covering her eyes with one hand, she added slowly, as if the words came hard: "It's all past and gone, Winn, but--but I did not know myself then, and now it's too late. God help me!"
At the door she laid a detaining hand on his arm.
"I wish you well," she said, with a quiver in her voice; "I wish you all that's best and holiest in life. Go to your island girl, and at once. She is worthy of you, and you of her. We have been good friends, and I hope always will be. Love is only an illusion, but friendship endless. And now, good-by, and God bless you!"
And Winn, going out into the night, knew that the proud girl was reaping the pain she had sown.
The first warm days of spring had come to Rockhaven ere Mona and her parents returned. The sunny slopes back of the village were growing green, the tulips and daffodils in Mona's dooryard just peeping out, the gulls on the cliffs nest-building, the fishermen painting their boats and mending nets, Parson Bush, with two helpers, thanks to Rockhaven stock, shingling the church, and life on the island budding forth into vernal activity. No hint of Mona's proud life in the city and wonderful triumph had reached those people, and the Hutton family were welcomed back as returning from a pleasure trip.
It was Mona's expressed wish that no mention be made of her musical ambition and its success, and as her desires were now law with Jess and her mother, she was obeyed. Captain Roby had told them of Winn's astonishing and unexpected visit before they set foot on the island; and it was repeated by many others with sundry comments, all converging to one end, Mrs. Moore's being the most pointed, perhaps, and therefore best to quote.
"I think," said that well-intentioned gossip-monger to Mona, "he come here to make ye a visit, more 'speshly, though he said he wanted to see what could be done 'bout settin' the quarry a-goin'. He called on me, and the only thing he seemed to listen to with any sort o' interest was 'bout you goin' away and when you was like to come back. I never seen a feller act more love-struck than he was, an' more out o' sorts. He even went a wandering over the island in the snow, like as if he was demented."