The girl was silent for a moment, forgetting her anxiety to get away, in thoughts Clarice had suggested.
"Has he any family?" she suddenly asked. "I mean—children, Clarice."
"I don't think so. But what difference would that make?"
"No difference in reality—but a heap of difference in my thoughts. If he had a family,—children,—it would seem more natural to think of him as being a married man, a family man. As it is, I will remember him as a true-hearted, free young Englishman."
"I think, Hopie, his being married has spoiled a very pretty romance. I wish it might have been different, dear!"
"You are too sleepy to know what you think. Go to sleep and dream that I shall join you in New York as soon as the school is ended."
CHAPTER XXVIII
It seemed an interminable time to Hope, although it was in reality less than an hour, before the breathing of the two sleepers assured her that she could leave the tent in safety.
When she stood outside, at the edge of the cut-bank, casting a quick glance over the tents behind, it seemed to her that the moonlight was brighter than ever. It was like a soft hazy day. She made her way toward a dark object on the opposite side of the brush, the same that had attracted Sydney an hour before. This time the small object did not conceal itself, but stood boldly forth.