She was alone again.  The flower of her nature that had expanded while she lived her all too brief and happy life with the Balls was now withered.  She was hopeless again; she had become once more the Sheila Macklin that he had met under such wretched circumstances at that past time.  But in spite of her helplessness and her wretchedness, there was something in the girl’s expression which convinced Tunis Latham before he again spoke that nothing he could say would in any degree change her determination.

“That confounded girl never should have been allowed to come back to the house up there,” he cried almost wildly.  “Why did Elder Minnett want to interfere?  It was not his business!  No one need have known the truth.”

“Don’t you see, Tunis, that just because it was the truth it was sure to become known?  At least, the main points in the whole matter were sure to come out.  But if you are careful, if you are wise, nobody need know more of your share in the transaction than I have told already.”

“Cap’n Ira asked me if it was true.  He told me what you said.  Sheila, you ruined your own reputation with the old folks to save me.  Girl—­”

“Did I have any reputation to lose, Tunis?” she interrupted, yet speaking softly.  “I could not save myself.  I have tried to save you.  Don’t be ill-advised; don’t be foolish.  Say nothing, and it will all blow over—­for you.”

“You think I’ll accept such a sacrifice on your part?” he demanded fiercely.

“I am making no sacrifice.  Nothing I can do or say; nothing you can do or say; nothing anybody can do or say; will change my situation.  We need not both be ruined in the eyes of the community.  Soon I will get away.  They will forget me.  It will all blow over.  You need not suffer.”

“What do you think I am?” he cried again.  “Am I the sort of a fellow, you think, to shelter myself behind you?”

“Shelter your Aunt Lucretia.  Shelter your business prospects.  Shelter the good name of your mother’s son.  You can do me absolutely no good by telling any different story from the one I was forced to tell.  Let it be, Tunis.”

She said it wearily.  She dropped her eyes again, looking away from him.  But when he would have stepped nearer and caught her to him, she leaped up and with look and tone warded him away.

“Don’t touch me!  Be at least so kind, Tunis.  Make it no harder for me than you can help.”

“You are breaking my heart, Sheila!”

“Mine is already broken,” she told him.  “And I do not blame you, Tunis.  It is the punishment for my own sins.  I attempted to escape from my overwhelming troubles in a wrong way.  I see it now.  I know it to be so.  I must go somewhere else and build again—­if I may.  But never again upon a foundation of trickery and deceit.  Oh!  Never!  Never!”

She stepped around the big block on which she had been sitting, entered the cabin, and closed the door behind her.  She left him standing there hopeless, miserable, almost distraught by all the entanglements of this tragedy that had come upon them.