De Spain seemed unmoved by her scepticism. “I can’t tell you anything else,” he said simply. “You couldn’t have any idea I crawled up here for the fun of it.”
“I’ve been trying to think,” she returned, and he perceived in the hardness of her voice how at bay she felt in giving him the least bit of information, “whether I ought to tell you anything at all–––”
“I couldn’t very decently take any unfair advantage after what you’ve done, could I?”
“Then––you are in Morgan’s Gap,” she said swiftly, as if she wanted it off her mind.
There was no movement of surprise, neither was there any answer. “I supposed, when I found you here, you knew that,” she added less resolutely; the darkness and silence were plainly a strain.
“I know you are telling the truth,” he responded at length. “But I can hardly believe it. That’s the reason, of course, you did find me. I rode a good many miles that night without knowing where I was or what I was doing. I certainly never figured on winding up here. How could I get in here without being stopped?”
“Everybody inside the Gap was outside hunting for you, I suppose.”
“There isn’t much use asking where I am, in the Gap. I never was inside but once. I shouldn’t know if you did tell me.”
“You are at the foot of Music Mountain, about a mile from where I live.”