Her voice died into a wail of distress, as she fell on her knees and grasped his hand. This pitiless work had been performed unintentionally; the warmth and young life had been in a moment swept away by a mere suspicion of truth. Without the hut, blasts of north wind blew colder, with flurries of snow, while thin ice sheets formed slowly upon each black swamp pool.
'Where's he now?' came the abrupt question.
'I do not know. I have not seen him since noon.'
'The last boat leaves first thing in the morning.'
The echo of his words had scarcely died away, before a deep sound came vibrating along the wind from the direction of the river. Here was direct contradiction to his statement.
'To-night!' screamed Menotah, springing to the doorway. 'It is the second horn.'
The figure joined her. He was calm, though the face was vengeful. The long cloak had been cast aside, and he was now fastening a buckskin coat round his body.
'Make for the point,' he said shortly. 'Go for all you're worth. I'll meet you there. We may catch her as she passes.'
'It is a long way, and the paths are slippery with frost.'
They escaped from the labyrinth surrounding the swamp, and, when in the open, Menotah sped along with the agility of a deer. She easily outstripped the man, who followed at his best pace, the felt hat pulled closely over his forehead, as though he were still fearful of detection.