"Damn you...!"
Pen apprehended a blow about to be given, and as in a flash, the ghastly consequences of a fight there, were revealed to her. She flung her arms around Don, and clung to him without speaking. He understood. He conquered his rage with a groan.
"Well ... get out!" he said thickly.
The other man melted away into the dark.
Pen and Don clung to each other. Of the two the man was the more shaken. Moments passed before he could speak. Then:
"Oh my girl! my girl!"
"It is nothing," Pen said. "I am not made of glass."
"My fault because I was late," he groaned. "I couldn't get rid of those fellows I was with."
"I am safe," Pen said. "Forget about it. I have something to tell you. There is little time."
They started to walk slowly away from the direction of the camp. Pen repeated Blanche Paglar's letter to him word for word. It arrested his attention, and he quieted down. When they found themselves drawing too near the lighthouse, they turned and came slowly back, Don straining Pen against his side.