“There are moments,” he thought to himself, “when it seems as if I ought to give up as prisoners, for it is impossible to go on like this. Poor fellow, he wants suitable food, and think how I will I don’t know what I could do to get him better food. I should be to blame if I stand by and see him die for want of proper nourishment.” And it seemed to him that his depressing thoughts had affected his eyes, for the cabin had grown dull and gloomy, and his despair became more deep.
“Oh, it’s no use to give way,” he muttered. “There must be food of some kind to be found if I knew where to forage for it. Why not kill one of the kids?”
He stopped short in his planning and took a step forward, to pass round the rough heather pallet, thus bringing him out of the shadow into the light and face to face with a girl of about seventeen or eighteen, who was resting one hand upon the doorpost and peering in at the occupant of the rough bed, but who now uttered a faint cry and turned to run.
Chapter Ten.
Talking in his Sleep.
“No, no! Pray, pray, stop!” cried Pen, dashing out after his strange visitor, who was making for the edge of the nearest patch of wood.
The imploring tone of his words had its effect, though the tongue was foreign that fell upon the girl’s ears, and she stopped slowly, to look back at him; and, then as it seemed to dawn upon her what her pursuer was, she slowly raised her hands imploringly towards him, the gesture seeming to speak of itself, and say, “Don’t hurt me! I am only a helpless girl.”
Then she looked up at him in wonder, for Pen raised his in turn, as he exclaimed, “Don’t run away. I want your help.”