She met the inquisition of his eyes frankly and the thought which for a moment had troubled him went flying to the winds in the treetops. For all her experience with the world she was a child—with a trust in him or an innocence which was appalling.
"The roads of France are free," he laughed gaily. "How should I stop you."
She looked up at him in delight. "You mean it? I may go? Oh, John
Markham, you're a jewel of a man."
"Perhaps you won't think so when we're vagabonds together; for vagabonds you must be—taking what comes without complaint—sour wine—a crust—"
"Here's my hand on it—a vagabond—with vagabond's luck—vagabond's fare."
He studied her a moment again, soberly testing her with this gaze, but she did not flinch.
"This," he said at last, "is the maddest thing—you've ever done."
CHAPTER XII
THE FAIRY GODMOTHER
He threw the knapsack over his shoulder and picked up Hermia's leather bag which had been saved from the wreck of the machine, but she quickly took it from him.