"Please go back!" she whispered imploringly. "I come in. I got talk with you."
He drew himself back into the shack with none too good a grace. Standing over the hole when she appeared, he put his hands under her arms and, drawing her through, stood her upon her feet.
He could have tossed the little thing in the air with scarcely an effort. She turned about and came close to him.
"I so glad to be by you!" she breathed.
She emanated a delicate natural fragrance like pine-trees or wild roses—but Ambrose could only think of freedom.
"You managed to get here without being seen," he grumbled.
"You foolish!" she whispered tenderly. "I little. I can hide behind leaves sof' as a link. Your white face him show by the moon lak a little moon. Are you sorry you got stay with me little while?"
"No!" he said. "But—I'm sick to be out of this!"
She put her hands on his shoulders and drew him down. "Sit on the floor," she whispered. "Your ear too moch high for my mouth."'
They sat, leaning against the footboard of the bed, Like a confiding child she snuggled her shoulder under his arm and drew the arm around her. What was he to do hut hold her close?