“And you must not ask me, Molly. What happened last night can never be told by me to any human being. Only Angus knows something of it; and Angus will not tell anyone else.”
“And you were frightened? You look, Nora, as if you had gone through a great deal.”
“I went through more than anyone will ever know,” said Nora, “but I am very thankful.”
The girls had now reached the old cabin. The tarpaulin was over the roof, but there was no smoke issuing from the hole.
“I wonder he did not light his fire,” said Nora in an anxious voice. “Will you go in with me, Molly, or shall I go alone?”
“I'll go in with you,” said Molly stoutly. “If you are not afraid, neither will I be.”
“I afraid now?” said Nora, with a smile. “Come, Molly, I hope the poor creature is not very ill.”
Both girls entered the cabin. The tarpaulin had been so contrived that a piece hung over, and formed a temporary door. Nora now pushed it aside, and they both stepped into the miserable cabin. Andy was lying on the straw; the basket of provisions had not yet been touched, nor was the fire lit. Andy lay very still and quiet on the straw. Nora went up to him; his eyes were shut, and his head was slightly turned round, so that she could not at first get a proper glimpse of his face. She went on her knees, then presently touched his forehead with her own slim hand, calling his name softly at the same time. There was no answer—there would never be an answer again, for the wild Irishman was dead.