And Priscilla stretched her hands out impulsively. Farwell took them in his cold, thin ones and clung to her grimly.
"I'd like to know she'd welcome me!" he whispered. "Unless she could, I'd rather stay—dead!"
Another silence fell between the man and girl while he relived the past and she sought to enter the future.
The clock struck the half-hour of one and Farwell sprang up.
"Get ready!" he said. "No time for napping now. It is—it is Saturday morning! We must be off! I'll go with you as far as I can. For the rest——" He stopped suddenly and looked blankly at Priscilla.
A little after two they started away from the small, darkened house. It was a cloudy morning; day would be long in coming, and the two made the most of the darkness. They were well in the deep woods by six o'clock; at seven they ate some food Farwell had hurriedly prepared, and were on their way again by eight. They did not talk much. Priscilla found that she needed all her strength, now that she must soon depend upon herself, and Farwell had nothing more to say but—good-bye!
Anton Farwell had got ahead of his spy for once! Not even so indefatigable an Indian as Pine could be expected to watch a man who had just returned from a long tramp. But Farwell knew full well that by high noon his guard would have sensed danger and be uncommonly active, so he pushed the march to Priscilla's utmost limit.
At four o'clock they reached the deserted hut near the old factory. A fire was made upon the hearth and a broken-down settle drawn close.
"I'd rest until early morning," advised Farwell in a hard, constrained voice. "Good Lord, Priscilla, it's a cruel place to leave you—alone!"
"I shall not mind, Master Farwell." All that was brave and unselfish in the girl rose now to the fore. She recognized that Farwell, even more than she, needed comfort.