"You'll have to cross this meadow, and you'll come to it. It isn't mor'n quarter of a mile. You'll find your way well enough without me."
Walter felt relieved at the prospect of a speedy return to the region of civilization. It seemed to him as if he had passed the previous night far away in some wild frontier cabin, instead of in the centre of a populous and thriving neighborhood, within a few miles of several flourishing villages.
He drew out a dollar-bill, and offered it to Meg.
"This is the money I agreed to pay you," he said. "Thank you, besides."
"You haven't much cause to thank me," she said, abruptly. "I would have robbed you if I had the chance."
"I am sorry for that," said Walter. "Money got in that way never does any good."
"Money is sure to do good, no matter how it comes," said the woman, fiercely. "Think of what it will buy!—a comfortable home, ease, luxury, respect. Some time before I die I hope to have as much as I want."
"I hope you will," said Walter; "but I don't think you will find it as powerful as you think."
His words might as well have remained unspoken, for she paid no attention to them. She seemed to be listening intently. Suddenly she clutched his arm.