ghed. "You need not be," he replied, "I never harmed man, woman,
or child." Then as a sudden thought came to him he added, "Did you tell
your mother you met me here the other day?"

"No," she replied, looking confused and coloring. It was on her lips to
say that she dreaded a scolding if she did, but she restrained herself.

"It is time you were starting home," he said suddenly, looking at his
watch, "and I am so sorry," and rising he added, "you must pardon me for
saying so, but I think you had best mention to your mother you met me
here, by accident of course. If you do not, and if she hears of it, she
will think it strange." When he had assisted her down the rocky pathway
and up the steep sides, the while carrying her precious violin, and they
reached the brink of the chasm, he paused.

The gorge was all in shadow, the wind fallen away, and only the long
sweeping ground swells caught and mirrored the red glow of the sun now
almost at the horizon line. For a moment Winn looked out over the broad
ocean and then turned to the girl beside him.

"Little one," he said gently, "I thank you for the confidence you have
placed in me by coming here and for the pleasure you have given me. I
shall never forget it. There are two favors I want you to grant me, the
first to let me call you Mona, the next to come here some day again and
play for me. Will you?"

"I will unless mother forbids," she answered simply.

And then as they turned toward the village, he carrying the green bag
and still retaining the hand he clasped to assist her out of the chasm,
and guiding her footsteps along the way, a new and exalted sense of
happiness came to her. But little was said by either, for she like a
timid child waited for him to speak, and he was so hushed by the mood of
the afternoon in the gorge, and the blessed unity of sea and sky and
sunset here, he enjoyed silence best.

When they came in sight of the village he released her hand, and when
her home was reached handed her the bag, and with a whispered "good
night, Mona," passed on.

CHAPTER XII

THE PARTING OF THE WAYS

When Winn passed out of Rockhaven the next morning, Mona was in her
dooryard kneeling beside a bed of flowers, her face shaded by a checked
calico sunbonnet. At the gate he paused.

"Good morning, little girl," he said pleasantly, "do I get a flower for
my good looks this morning?" Had Mona been a cultured society girl she
would have replied in the same