"No," I answered, "I haven't been in that settlement; but I watched it from a hiding place all of day before yesterday. You see, I've come two hundred miles to take you away from it."
"You've come to—to take me?" she slowly asked, and I thought the color began to smoulder again; while from her eyes flashed a look that might have been a struggle between gratitude, resentment and fear. Wanting only the first to prevail I continued hastily:
"Yes; I followed ever since you wrote that you were in danger, and I've sworn not to return to my yacht without you."
"Oh!" she gasped, stepping back and staring at me through the swiftly changing lights of her awakening. "Surely," she caught her breath again, "surely you're not the—you can't be!"
"I am," I smiled, holding out my hand. "The man you gave the paper ball to."
Impulsively she clasped it in both of her own, swaying slightly toward me and looking her gratitude through eyes brim-full of tears—but the angels be my witness that spoken words have never been so eloquent! Then she began to laugh—a little wildly, a little hysterically—so I said:
"It's all right—you're safe here, absolutely! I watched last night and there wasn't the slightest sign of anyone. You see, Smilax—that's Tachachobee, but we call him Smilax because he smiles—well, he and Echochee purposely led those fellows up the coast, and they'll keep on leading them any-old-where until it's safe to join us here. It's been carefully planned out. However, I'll tell you everything after—after——" I looked ruefully at the shriveled black stuff now incinerated on the bottom of my skillet, adding: "but there isn't going to be any after; it's all burned up!"
She had pluckily taken herself in hand by now and, following my dejected stare, cried:
"Is that our breakfast? Heavens, what a calamity! But show me where the things are and I'll cook another!"
"You'll soil your fingers," I hesitatingly protested.