There were no words to convey to her his meaning. Truedale felt almost ashamed to hold it in his own mind. They so inevitably belonged to each other; why should they question?
“I—I shall not go away—again!”
“My darling, you must.”
“Where?”
The word brought him to his senses—where, indeed? With the dark woods full of armed men ready to fire at any moving thing in human shape, he could not let her go! That conclusion reached, and all anchors cut, the danger and need of the hour claimed him.
“Yes; you are mine!” he whispered, gathering her to him. “What does anything matter but our safety to-night? To-morrow; well, to-morrow—”
“Sh!”
No ear but one trained to the secrets of the still places could have detected a sound.
“They are coming! Yes, not the many—it is Jed! Come! While you slept I carried a right many things to the rhododendron slick back of the house! See, push over the chair—leave the door open like you’d gone away before the storm.”
Quickly and silently Nella-Rose suited action to word. Truedale watched her like one bewitched. “Now!” She took him by the hand and the next minute they were out on the wet, sodden leaves; the next they were crouching close under the bushes where even the heavy rain had not penetrated. Half-consciously Truedale recognized some of his property near by—his clothing, two or three books, and—yes—it was his manuscript! The white roll was safe! How she must have worked while he slept.