“Where did you think of going from here?” he asked.
“Anywhere—I don’t know,” was the reply.
“Is there no work here for her?” he asked, turning to Madame Bulteel.
“Yes, plenty,” was the reply. “And room also?” he asked again.
“Was ever a tent too full, when the lost traveller stumbled into camp in the old days?” rejoined Fleda. The woman trembled to her feet, a glad look in her eyes. “I ought to go, but I am tired and I will gladly stay,” she said and swayed against the table.
Madame Bulteel and Fleda put their arms round her, steadying her.
“This is not the way to act,” said Fleda with a touch of sharp reproof. Had she not her own trouble to face?
The stricken woman drew herself up and looked Fleda in the eyes. “I will find the right way, if I can,” she said with courage.
A half-hour later, as the old man sat alone in the room where he had breakfasted, a rifle-shot rang out in the distance.
“The trouble begins,” he said, as he rose and hastened into the hallway.