"I want to know the exact truth. In the eyes of the law, he is merely an escaped convict?"
"Yes."
She was perfectly quiet and self-controlled. I could see that she merely expected me to confirm the impression which her intelligence had already discerned. She did not hesitate in her quiet speech.
"Then the second thing is to get word to him. I have written him a letter." (She laid it on my table,--a nice, thick letter it was, too!) "I have told him in this letter that I am ready to go with him to any island of the sea or desert jungle where he will be safe. I want you to know, because it may happen that you will get word to him only by telegraphing. But tell him what I have told you, if you cannot give him my letter. If you should see him, the letter will be enough to make him understand. And if he should hesitate on my account, and talk about not letting me sacrifice myself,--he may, you know,--will you make him--understand?" There was a mist in her eyes as she finished. If she looked at Clyde with that look, he would have to be a man of iron not to yield!
"Trust me to do the very best I can to deliver your commission. But Clyde has disappeared, as you know. I may not hear from him before you do."
"Yes, I know. I am only providing for the chance,--in case you do. I have been thinking of everything, trying to put myself into his mind, and I think he will come or send to you."
She spoke with quiet assurance.
"I shall be only too glad to serve you--or him."
"Then there is another matter." A slightly embarrassed air replaced the fine lack of self-consciousness which I had been admiring. "I wish that you would tell Eugene Benbow."
I felt myself stiffen. Unconsciously I was politely obtuse.