"You could even shut those out if the air inside the house wasn't like a tombstone," he remarked, looking limply at Gheena.
"But Gheena is in no hurry, Dearest," replied Mrs. Freyne, "and the fishermen are sure to steal the vegetables if we're not here. Don't you think they might?"
Gheena grinned softly, kissed her mother, and asked for a drive home; she was tired. It was opportunity sent to her. The watcher on the cliff thought it a completely natural thing when he saw her go by in the motor. The boat was now ready close to the cave.
Phil was made fellow-conspirator, pledged to see that the small car was placed at night in an outhouse beyond the yard gate ready to drive.
That night Gheena slipped from her side door, poor Crabbit left behind, but only walked to the harbour and rowed out a little then. The vast loneliness of the sea at night frightened her; she wanted to get out to it--to the eerie laps and gurgles among the rocks, the white gleam of the waves' caps, the voices of the night. Lying still, she saw a boat shoot past--some of the fishermen making for the village--then left the boat and was stealing home when someone rose out of the dimness and spoke to her.
"Gheena--Miss Freyne--you must not do it! What are you doing out like this, and war time?"
"And what are you doing out like this in war time?" retorted Gheena, an uncertain note in her voice.
Stafford caught her by the shoulders, holding her.
"I ask you, I pray you, not to come out," he said. "I'll ask Darby to say..."
"Darby will only say what I want him to," observed Gheena; "that's what Darby is there for."
"A man has some right over his future wife," said Stafford slowly.
Miss Freyne murmured several indistinct beginnings of remarks, and left them all unfinished rather nervously.
"Poor old Darby!" she said amiably at last.
Mr. Stafford returned gloomily that Darby was one of the best. If Miss Freyne meant to marry her intended----
"But ... of course." Then Gheena's voice died again. She was acutely conscious of a struggle with tears as hands gripped hers for a second.
"You must keep off the rocks at night," said Stafford. "For a reason. Promise, I beg it of you."
"If you will keep off them" was what Miss Freyne muttered in a strangled voice. "I ... ask you to." She ran away.