A flash of white in the white moonlight disturbed her meditations. Two people had come out of the door and were walking slowly across the platform side by side. They were not speaking, and their footsteps crushed the light gravel sharply as they came forward. Clare recognised Brook and Lady Fan. Seated in the shadow on one side of the great black cross and a little behind it, she could see their faces distinctly, but she had no idea that they were dazzled by the light and could not see her at all in her dark dress. She fancied that they were looking at her as they came on. The shadow of the rock had crept forward upon the open space, while she had been dreaming. The two turned, just before they reached it, and then stood still, instead of walking back. "Brook--" began Lady Fan, as though she were going to say something. But she checked herself and looked up at him quickly, chilled already by his humour. Clare thought that the woman's voice shook a little, as she pronounced the name. Brook did not turn his head nor look down. "Yes?" he said, with a sort of interrogation. "What were you going to say?" he asked after a moment's pause. She seemed to hesitate, for she did not answer at once. Then she glanced towards the hotel and looked down. "You won't come back with us?" she asked, at last, in a pleading voice. "I can't," he answered. "You know I can't. I've got to wait for them here." "Yes, I know. But they are not here yet. I don't believe they are coming for two or three days. You could perfectly well come on to Genoa with us, and get back by rail." "No," said Brook quietly, "I can't." "Would you, if you could?" asked the lady in white, and her tone began to change again. "What a question!" he laughed drily. "It is an odd question, isn't it, coming from me?" Her voice grew hard, and she stopped. "Well--you know what it means," she added abruptly. "You may as well answer it and have it over. It is very easy to say you would not, if you could. I shall understand all the rest, and you will be saved the trouble of saying things--things which I should think you would find it rather hard to say." "Couldn't you say them, instead?" he asked slowly, and looking at her for the first time. He spoke gravely and coldly. "I!" There was indignation, real or well affected, in the tone. "Yes, you," answered the man, with a shade less coldness, but as gravely as before. "You never loved me."