"Why did you not tell me this earlier?--on the boat, before it was too late?"
"I did not suppose you would care to know. I attached very little importance to it."
"Importance! I think I might have had some choice as to being landed in the wilderness with you alone, or going on to your sisters."
Pats regarded her in a mild surprise. Her sudden anger was very real. He answered, gently: "The man was so drunk he hardly knew what he was saying. His companion, who probably knew him well, paid no attention to his words."
"But _I_ should have paid attention to his words. And so would my uncle, or any friend of mine, if he could have heard him."
Pats, taken aback at the new light in which he stood, retorted, with some feeling:
"I hope you don't mean to say that I did this intentionally?"
"Then why did you keep such information so carefully to yourself?"
"Because when I woke up I found we were here--that is, as I supposed--at Boyd's Island. Both the steward and the first officer told me so. My only doubt when I went to bed was about our getting here. And this morning here we were. It had come out all right, so far as I knew."
With a curl of her lip that expressed a world of incredulity, she dropped into one of the chairs behind the table, and rested her chin upon her hand.
"I have never been here before, and had no idea how it looked. Why didn't Father Burke tell you this was not the place? He knows our island."
"It was foggy. Nobody could see it; and he knew nothing of the warning you were keeping to yourself."
Beneath this avalanche of contempt, Pats's feeble knees almost let him to the floor.
"Miss Marshall, at least do me the justice to believe--"
Into his hollow cheeks came a darker color, and he closed his eyes. Then, with a glance of resentment, he took a step or two in her direction as if to speak. But instead of speaking, he turned toward the open door and walked slowly out.
For a long time she remained in the same position, boiling with resentment, yet keeping back her tears. She knew this coast was wild, almost uninhabited, neither to the east nor west a sign of life: behind them, northward, the unending forest. And the owner of this mysterious habitation,--what manner of man was he? Perhaps there were several. And she, a woman, alone with these men! From such bitter reflections she was recalled, slowly, by the realization that her eyes were resting upon a little portrait about twice the size of an ordinary miniature--a woman's face--confronting her from across the table. It hung against the back of the opposite chair, on a level with her own eyes, and was suspended by a narrow black ribbon,--an odd place for a portrait, but in glancing at the table in front of her she thought she guessed the reason. Before the place in which she had thrown herself she noticed for the first time a plate, a pewter mug, a napkin, and a knife and fork. Evidently the host expected to eat alone, for there were no other dishes on the table. And the portrait, of course, must be his wife, or his mother, perhaps, or daughter. It proved a pleasant face as it, in turn, regarded her from the little oval frame,--rather plump and youthful, with a curious little mouth and large dark eyes, with a peculiar droop at the outer corners. The hair was drawn up, away from the forehead; the shoulders were bare, and a string of pearls encircled the neck. She was dark, with good features, not strictly beautiful, but gentle and somewhat melancholy, in spite of the mirthful eyes.