For a few weeks Winn worried over the suspicions of Weston & Hill's honesty that seemed like a cloud of danger, and then, to a certain extent, it passed away. To no one, not even Jess, did he dare confide them, but just drifted on, day by day, doing the duty he was paid to do. Each week came his pay-roll and salary remittance, and an assuring and pleasant letter from the firm. It also contained a request or hope that he would not forget to sell stock when he could. This latter, however, made no impression on Winn. Collectively, he had sold about one thousand shares to these islanders, and that he felt was enough. In fact, believing, as he had almost come to do, that the entire scheme was a gigantic swindle, it was certainly all he intended to sell, and more than he wished he had sold. Then there was another matter of serious interest, and that was Mona.

Between her and himself, these summer days, there had come a little bond of feeling, deep-rooted in her simple but passionate nature, and more lightly in his. To her it was a new wonder-world, and as each evening when he chanced to linger by the gate watching her, as she cared for the sweet williams, pinks, and peonies that grew in her dooryard, or later when he sat with her in the vine-hid porch, chatting of commonplaces or relating incidents of the great world outside, his earnest eyes, the melodious tones of his voice, and the careless, half cynical, half tender way he had of expressing himself, only increased the charm. Occasionally, on Thursday evenings, when her mother, as usual, made one of the little band who gathered in the church, they two would stroll over to the cliff beyond Norse Hill or up the road to Northaven to the old tide mill. On two occasions he had persuaded her to take her violin and visit the gorge with him, where she played at his bidding, her heart gladdened by the thought that he cared to hear her. But she preferred his poetic fancies and world-taught sayings to the violin, and since she was so charming and interested a listener, it was inevitable that he talked much. Another matter also troubled him seriously.

He had, at the beginning of their acquaintance, and from a desire to utter pleasant words to Mona, assured her that she was gifted with a remarkable talent for playing, and if she would but make the effort, the world would bow before her. It was a kindly speech, and charmed as he was by time, place, and the power of the old love songs she rendered with such exquisite feeling, he really meant it, little realizing its effect on her. Now that he did realize it, and could not fail to see that every word he uttered was considered by her as authoritative, he wished that he had been more cautious. Then again, he understood her better and saw what an ardent child of nature she was, and how her heart and soul vibrated to every pulse of the ocean and the mystic romance of the wild gorge she sought so often. To him now she seemed like a veritable nymph of old, or a mermaid, whose soul was attuned to the wild voice of wind and wave sighing through the rock-walled ravine and the thicket of spruce above it. For such a creature of moods and fancies to thrust herself into a merciless world, where sentiment was a jest and romance an illusion, seemed a sacrilege. And he was to blame for her wish to do so! Then again, he felt that if the world could but see and hear her, it must, perforce, crown her with the laurel wreath. True to his impulsive nature, in this as in all things, he alternated in his own opinions as to what was best for her.

And so the summer days passed, and Winn, half conscious that she was learning the sad lesson of love, and yet stifling his conscience with the feeling that he was only playing the rÔle of big brother, which he had decided to adopt, allowed the (to him) pleasant pastime to continue.

It may be said that it was unfair for him, a polished man of the world, and knowing full well that there could be but one result to this delightful intimacy, to allow it to continue, and yet he did. And it must also be asserted, that under the same circumstances and like provocation, few men there are who would not do likewise.

One surprise came to him, however, for he had sent to the city for a book of instructions on the violin and a supply of new music, only to find, when he gave them to her, that she was unable to read a note.

"I told you," she said plaintively, "that I knew nothing about music except what Uncle Jess has taught me, and I wonder how you can think I play so well. If only I could go away and learn even a little, I should be so happy."

"Yes," he responded, smiling at her, for he had come to speak as he thought and felt, "and learn also that men admired you, and grow vain of your looks, and become one of the artful women of society, instead of sweet and pure-minded Mona. You are better off where you are, for here you are happy and care-free."

Then one evening came another, and more serious, revelation to him.

They had strolled up to the old tide mill, and sat watching the moon high overhead, outlining its path of silver sheen upon the rippled waters of the harbor, while he, as usual, was giving utterance to some of his delicately worded sayings.

"I do not understand," she said in response to one more pointed than the rest, "why you think so badly of womankind in the great world. Are they all so selfish, and artful, and deceitful, as you say? I have seen some who came here in their beautiful yachts, and they looked so nice in their white dresses, and so sweet and gentle, I envied them."

Winn looked at her and smiled.

"I have no doubt, little girl, you admired and envied them, and that they looked to you as beautiful and charming as so many fairies. That was the principal reason they came ashore—just to be seen and admired by you people here, who, they knew, never were, and, most likely, never would be, clad as they were. That is all these butterflies of fashion live for—to show off their beautiful plumage and be envied by others."

"Maybe you know them best," she responded regretfully, as if sorry he had spoiled an illusion, "but I thought them so beautiful and sweet and so like pictures in books, it seemed to me they must be as described there and never wicked or deceitful."

"And so you have been believing all you read in books, have you, little one?" he said, smiling again, "and that those show birds who lit on the island flew out of the pages of story books? And yet, the other day, when I told you about the nymphs and elfins, you did not believe me, Mona!"

"I have never seen those creatures," she replied, "and I have seen these."

"Neither have you seen God, or the Saviour, or the angels," he said, "and yet you believe they exist."

"I do," she answered firmly, "and I should go crazy with fear if I didn't. But your wonderful creatures, who lived so long ago, did not make this world, as God did."

"People believed they did in those days," he replied quietly, "and just as firmly as we believe God did."

She made no answer, for the subject was beyond her, but silently watched the beauteous moonlight picture before her.

"I should like to go into the great world," she said at last, as if that fascinated her, "and wear beautiful dresses and see those others wear, and hear that wonderful woman you told about play the violin, and watch them throw flowers at her. I should like to be one with the rest just for a little while, and then come back."

"If you did that you would never come back," he answered, "or if you did you would be miserable ever after."

"I should have to," she said, as another side of the question presented itself to her, "if I couldn't earn my living there."

"You would have to, surely," he answered slowly, thinking of some phases of city existence, but allowing no hint of them to escape him. "It is foolish to dream of these things, little girl," he continued, "for they are impossible. Even if you had the means to join the great throng of city revellers, you would, with your disposition, be wounded deep on all sides. The women would say spiteful things about you, and scratch you every way they could, as is their nature; and the men would fill your ears with subtle flattery, and each one spread before you the most insidious net ever woven by mortal brain. No, little sister, be content where you are, and if you are lonely, go to the cave and listen to the whisper of the fairies. They will never stab you to the heart, as the worldly women will. You are like a wild rose now, and as sweet and innocent. You say what you think and mean what you say. Your heart is tender and true and your thoughts pure and simple. You deceive no one, and would not, if you could."

"But might I not learn to play as the wonderful woman did," she asked stoutly, "and could I not earn my own living if I did? I need not know, nor care, what these spiteful women said about me, need I?"

Winn looked at her in surprise.

"And so this is the bee that has crept into the heart of my wild rose, is it?" he said. "You thirst for fame and the laurel wreath, do you, Mona? I thought I had come to know you well, little one," he continued tenderly, "but this surprises me. Do you know what it means, and that to win the world's applause you must study your art for years, and step by step win your way up the ladder, and that already ahead of you are hundreds who will miss no chance to push you backwards? And who will pay for all the cost of tuition and training you must go through, Mona?"

"Uncle Jess will," she answered simply, "if I ask him. He loves me."

Winn was silent, conscious that beside him was a creature as tender as a flower and as innocent, with a will to do and dare, or strive to do, what few women would, and in her heart was an ambition that, like the bee in the flower, would rob her of all life's sweetness.

"I am sorry," he said at last, "that you have this ambition. It is creditable to you, but hopeless. Put it out of your mind before it destroys your peace. Be your own sweet self here on the island, and some day you will learn to love one of its hardy sons, like David Moore, perhaps, and he will make you a home and strive for your happiness."

"I do not care for him, or any of the others," she answered, "and never shall."

It was not the first time he had mentioned young Moore to her, but never before in so serious a way, and it hurt.

"I am sorry," she continued, "that I told you what I have, but somehow I thought you understood me better than any one else. It is all right, however, and no doubt what you say is true."

He noticed there was a little quiver in her voice, and realized he had hurt her. He had, but not in the way he thought.

For a long time they sat in silence, watching the whitened ledges that bordered the island, the spectral spruces that grew to the right of where they were, the twinkling gleam of the lighthouse in the distance, and the shimmering path of moonlight across the harbor that ended at their feet.

"It's a beautiful night," said Winn at last, "and I hate to leave this spot, but I think it's time you were home."

And as he spoke he stooped, and, putting his hand under her arm, lifted her to her feet.

As he did so, a single tear fell upon his hand.