"He doesn't know where I am," she said softly. "I went away because—well, it was for a good reason. It was for his sake. I had to go. Things had happened. I can't tell you about it, but it would have made him trouble if I had stayed."
Dan sat looking at her steadily, a great, wistful yearning in his eyes.
"I guess you're wrong 'bout that," he said thoughtfully. "I guess he'd rather have you an' the trouble, than to have no trouble without you. Leastways, I would, an' ef he don't love you that way, he ain't much account."
A troubled look came into Dawn's eyes. It was the first time she had questioned, from Charles's standpoint, the wisdom of her running way.
"It would have made a lot of trouble all around," she said, shaking her head doubtfully.
"Say, look here!" said Dan, sitting up suddenly. "You tell me where that fellow is, an' I'll go tell him all about you, and how that other fellow is worrying you, and how you need him to take care o' you; an' then if he don't seem to want to find you and look out for you, why, I won't tell him where you are. I'll come back and take care of you myself, any way. You needn't like me nor anything if you don't want to, but I ain't going to stand having you off running around the world, frightened of that fellow all the time, not if I have to chop him up myself. I tell you, I love you!"
Dan's blue eyes were flashing, and his cheeks were red with determination. He had let go of her hand as if it were a gracious favor she had bestowed upon him for the moment in his dire distress, and he had no right to keep it, but Dawn put it out again and laid it on his gently.
"Daniel, you are my dear friend for always, and I am glad to feel that you would take care of me if you could, but truly there is nothing you can do. I would not have you go to him for the world. He must not know where I am, nor be troubled ever by any thought of me. It was for that I came away. You would grieve me more than I can tell you if you did. I want him to forget me, because it could only make him trouble if he found me. He would have to come to me. He would want to come, I know, if you told him. But I don't want him to come. You don't understand, of course, and I mustn't tell you any more, only there is nothing can be done but for me to go away and find a place somewhere where no one can find me. Then people will forget, and I shall not bring any trouble or disgrace on him—though it wasn't at all my fault," she added. "I want you to know that, Daniel."
"Of course," growled Dan, looking down at the little hand on his as if it were an angel's and might be wafted away with a breath. "But I'm going with you myself, then, and see you to some safe place."
"Oh, but you mustn't, Dan. I couldn't let you. It wouldn't be right, you know. People would think it very strange."