Suddenly came a hoarse voice, foul words uttered in furious exultation, and the feet were running—nearer—nearer—and once more—twice—the thumping note of the big revolver.
Oh! the end was coming. Her breast was squeezed in, and her head bursting. Hardly knowing what she did, she peered over the edge of the beastly, uncovered little grave, just in time to see the black brute, red-faced, in the cart-track; to see the blue arm swing, and a long glitter in the air between them; to hear a horrible sound and see what sent her back into her hole, with hands over eyes to shut out what was already inside.
And then Dick's voice, and his hand helping her out.
Standing up, she looked at him. In his face there was no blood under the brown, but his eyes were more content than she had seen them since just before she opened the letter from Melchard—a hundred years ago.
Her eyes asked him the question she could not put into words, and he nodded.
"You said I should, you know."
"You just had to, Dick," she answered.
He looked at her keenly.
"You're beat," he said. "Food's what you want; but 'The Coach and Horses' over there, where I left my car, is the only place. We must go a bit out of our way to keep out of sight of their damned house."
He went to the dummy to free the coat of its stuffing.