"Go!" she said, in a voice of such concentrated fury that it was little more than a whisper. "Go!—before I do you ill;" and she looked so like it that Julie turned and fled, expecting the rock between her shoulders at every step.
But the rock was on the ground, and Nance was intent again on L'Etat.
She stood there watching, until she saw the boats put off, and then she turned and sped like a rabbit—across the waste lands—across the Coupée—over Clos Bourel fields into Dixcart—over Hog's Back to the Creux.
She ran through the tunnel just as the boats came up, and her eyes were wide with expectant fear, as they swept them hungrily.
"What have you done then, out there, Philip Vaudin?" she cried, as his boat's nose grated on the shingle.
"Pardi, ma garche, we have done nothing."
"But the shooting?"
"Some one shot at the shelter to see if he was inside, and the rest shot because they thought there must be something to shoot at."
"And you have not got him?" asked another disappointedly.
"Never even seen him."