“Yes. I feel as sure of him as I did of—of Bob that morning.”
“That settles it. I can’t mistrust that instinct. Come on;” and off we rattled again at a pace we relished a deal better than the scarcely rested horse under me.
“I wonder what has happened at the cottage,” said Volna when we eased up later.
“I have a sort of sneaking hope that the woman got away despite her villainous attempt on us.”
“What a fiend of a woman!”
“Her fiendishness it was that saved us from heaven knows what trouble. I was cudgelling my wits to know how to get out of the mess. She was a cunning devil, too, in her way.”
“And the man, too. A man!”
“She was the man in that house. Say what you will, it was awfully smart to spring that accusation against us.”
“I hope she’ll be punished,” said Volna.
“Oh, she’ll get there some day—if not now. But you are the wonder to me. To go through all you have in the last few hours and yet be as fresh as—as paint. Sylvia has pluck and all that; but she’d go to bed after a rough and tumble of this sort.”