"Oh, that does not matter," replied Madge. "If you will get me an oar and come with me, I can do the rowing. I am rested now."
The man grunted unintelligibly, then went on with his breakfast. He paid no further attention to Madge. The old woman continued her curious muttering.
"Won't you try to find me an oar?" asked Madge again.
The man shook his head. His face darkened with anger.
"Then I might as well leave you," declared Madge haughtily. "If you are so unaccommodating, I will look for some one else." She struggled wearily to her feet to continue her search. Her body still ached with the fatigue.
"Don't be rough with her," the old crone spoke from behind Madge.
The young girl felt her arms roughly seized and drawn back. She was forced to the ground. She struggled at first, but she was powerless. The man took a small rope and bound her feet together so that she could not move them. The ropes were not tight. The fellow did not wish to hurt her, but merely to prevent her getting away.
"You can't leave this place by day, Miss," he announced quietly. "I can't have anybody following you back here and running me down. When night comes I'll let you go."
Madge bit her lips. Night! Once more she must wander alone in the darkness in a vain search for her lost friends. What would they think if a day, as well as a night, passed with no sign of her?
Her big blue eyes were dark with grief and protest. "Please let me go," she entreated. "I promise, on my honor, that I will never show any one your hiding place, or say that I have seen you. I must get back to my friends, they will be so frightened." She was shaking with terror and anger, but she struggled to keep back her tears. Surely the man must relent and let her go back to the houseboat.