“What’s up now?” he demanded. “You’re not mad ’cause I hiked off this morning without notice?”
“No, of course not, Mr. Blake. Nothing of the kind. But I–”
“Well,-what?” he broke in, as she hesitated. “I can’t, for the world, think of anything else I’ve done–”
“You’ve done! Perhaps I might suggest that it is a question of what you haven’t done.” The girl was trembling on the verge of hysterics. “Yes, what you’ve not done! All these weeks, and not a single attempt to get us away from here, except that miserable signal; and I as good as put that up! You call yourself a man! But I–I–” She stopped short, white with a sudden overpowering fear.
Winthrope looked from her to Blake with a sidelong glance, his lips drawn up in an odd twist.
There followed several moments of tense silence; then Blake mumbled apologetically: “Well, I suppose I might have done more. I was so dead anxious to make sure of food and shelter. But this trip to-day–”
“Mr.–Mr. Blake, pray do not get excited–I–I mean, please excuse me. I’m–”
“You’re coming down sick!” he said.
“No, no! I have no fever.”
“Then it’s the sun. Yet you ought to keep up there where the air is freshest. I’ll make you a shade.”