"I will leef when de moon rise, at eleven," he interjected.
"You have had no sleep for two nights, and no food. You can't last it out," she said calmly.
The deliberate look on his face deepened to stubbornness.
"It is my vow to my brudder—he is in purgatore. An' I mus' do it," he rejoined, with an emphasis there was no mistaking. "You can show me dat way?"
She went to a drawer and took out a piece of paper. Then, with a point of blackened stick, as he watched her and listened, she swiftly drew his route for him.
"Yes, I get it in my head," he said. "I go dat way, but I wish—I wish it was dat queeck way. I have no fear, not'ing. I go w'en dat moon rise—I go, bien sur."
"You must sleep, then, while I get some food for you." She pointed to a couch in a corner. "I will wake you when the moon rises."
For the first time he seemed to realise her, for a moment to leave the thing which consumed him, and put his mind upon her.
"You not happy—you not like me here?" he asked simply; then added quickly, "I am not bad man like me brudder—no."
Her eyes rested on him for a moment as though realising him, while some thought was working in her mind behind.