"I feared it might be."
"And you see that I must go immediately to Multomah?"
"By heavens! no. I see nothing of the kind. Rather should you hasten as far away as possible—to England, Germany—some distant spot where you can safely rest until all danger, danger of discovery, is over."
"So you believe it also!" cried the girl, with scathing emphasis. "You believe and condemn! Believe that garbled, distorted story; condemn, when you only know half! Like all the rest of the world, you are in haste to believe, glad to believe, the worst—in haste to join the hue and cry against a hunted man."
She stood in the centre of the room, her form drawn up to its full height, her eyes flashing. She looked inspired—inspired with anger and scorn.
"Then it is garbled?" said Dexter, finding time even at that moment to admire her beauty, which had never before been so striking.
"It is. And I must go to Multomah and give the true version. Tell me what train to take."
"First tell me, Anne; tell me the whole story. Let me hear it before you give it to the world. Surely there can be no objection to my knowing it now."
"There is no objection; but I can not lose the time. I must start."
A travelling-bag stood on the table beside her shawl and gloves; the red wagon was waiting outside. He comprehended that nothing would stop her, and took his measures accordingly.