"Miss Molly! Hit's you! Ye're not dead no ways, then?"
"Come," said the girl.
He drew near, fell back at sight of her thin face, her pallor; but again she commanded him.
"I know," said she. "He's--he's safe?"
"Yes, Miss Molly, a lot safer'n any of us here."
"You're going back to him?"
"Yes. When he knows ye're hurt he'll come. Nothin'll stop him, oncet I tell him."
"Wait!" she whispered. "I heard you talk. Take him this." She pushed into his hand a folded paper, unsealed, without address. "To him!" she said, and fell back on the blankets of her rude pallet.
At that moment her mother was approaching, and at her side walked Woodhull, actuated by his own suspicions about Jackson. He saw the transaction of the passed note and guessed what he could not know. He tapped Jackson on the shoulder, drew him aside, his own face pale with anger.