“They’re coming,” he said harshly. “Pete, they’re after me. Men are coming across the flat.”
CHAPTER VII
“Did they see you?” Pete demanded anxiously.
“I don’t think so.” Hugh was breathing fast; he had evidently fled across the snow at top speed.
“Get in, then, quick—out of sight.” Pete was already tearing up boards above that long-waiting place of hiding. Hugh was about to step down into it when he glanced up and saw Sylvie. She was standing as the unseeing stand in moments of frightened bewilderment, her hands clasped, her head turning from side to side. “Look here,” whispered Hugh, still absorbed in his own danger, “don’t let them know that Sylvie just wandered in here. Don’t let them start asking her any questions; it’s too dangerous. Let her be—one of the family.” He smiled maliciously. “Let her be your wife, Pete.” Then, as though that picture had fired his love through its hint of jeopardy, he held out both arms suddenly: “Come here, Sylvie—lead her to me, Pete.”
The boy obeyed. But as her uncertain arms trembled about Hugh’s shoulders Pete turned sharply away. He heard the quick, anxious murmur of their voices:
“Hugh, dearest—are you afraid?” And his: “Trust me, little darling. Love me.” A kiss.
Then a sharp, whispered summons: “Quick, can’t you, Pete? Get these boards down.”
When Pete turned, Hugh had dropped into the darkness, and Sylvie stood flushed and with her hands over her face.