to take our chairs."

In silence they traversed the long tiled corridor with set faces, like
two people who are going to do something dangerous and disagreeable
together. They came out upon the platform before the deep recess of the
rocks in which stood the black cross. There was nobody there.

"We shall not be disturbed out here," said Mrs. Bowring, quietly. "The
people in the hotel go to their rooms after luncheon. We will sit down
there by the cross, if you don't mind--I'm not so strong as I used to
be, you know."

They ascended the few steps which led up to the bench where Clare had
sat on that evening which she could not forget, and they sat down side
by side, not looking at each other's faces.

A long silence followed. Once or twice Sir Adam shifted his feet
uneasily, and opened his mouth as though he were going to say something,
but suddenly changed his mind. Mrs. Bowring was the first to speak.

"Please understand," she said slowly, glancing at him sideways, "I don't
want you to say anything, and I don't know what you can have to say. As
for my being here, it's very simple. If I had known that Brook Johnstone
was your son before he had made our acquaintance, and that you were
coming here, I should have gone away at once. As soon as I knew him I
suspected who he was. You must know that he is like you as you used to
be--except your eyes. Then I said to myself that he would tell you that
he had met us, and that you would of course think that I had been afraid
to meet you. I'm not. So I stayed. I don't know whether I did right or
wrong. To me it seemed right, and I'm willing to abide the consequences,
if there are to be any."

"What consequences can there be?" asked the grey-bearded man, turning
his eyes slowly to her face.

"That depends upon how you act. It might have been better to behave as
though we had never met, and to let your son introduce you to me as he
introduced you to Clare. We might have started upon a more formal
footing, then. You have chosen to say that we are old friends. It's an
odd expression to use--but let it stand. I won't quarrel with it. It
does well enough. As for the position, it's not pleasant for me, but it
must be worse for you. There's not much to choose. But I don't want you
to think that I expect you to talk about old times unless you like. If
you have anything which you wish to say, I'll hear it all without
interrupting you. But I do wish you to believe that I won't do anyt