"I couldn't let you," he said firmly.
"Where could you go?" she demanded.
"I'll manage to keep out of sight."
"There is no place you could go!" she insisted. "The Sun-paper is read on the remotest creeks. Do you realize what a hue and cry will be raised in the morning? Fifty boats will be out searching the river, the bay, the creeks. How could you hope to escape? Where would you get food and fresh water?"
"I'll find a way," he said stubbornly. "I'm going back to New York."
"Stay here!" she pleaded.
"I couldn't! What would you think of a man who unloaded all his troubles on a woman like that?"
"What would I think of him?" Pen was on her knees at the edge of the wharf reaching down for his things. The moonlight was in her face. She suddenly smiled at him in an oddly tender, an indulgent sort of way. "Don't be silly!" she said brusquely. "Hand me up that valise."
The advantage was all with her now. His man's pride was hardly strong enough to tear him away from her. He passed up the valise.
"I'll find some way to square the account," he grumbled.