“How can you say that? You have done everything. We owe his life to you.”
Renmark said nothing for a moment. Her unjust accusation in the earlier part of the night had deeply pained him, and he hoped for some hint of disclaimer from her. Belonging to the stupider sex, he did not realize that the words were spoken in a state of intense excitement and fear, that another woman would probably have expressed her condition of mind by fainting instead of talking, and that the whole episode had left absolutely no trace on the recollection of Margaret. At last Renmark spoke:
“I must be getting back to the tent, if it still exists. I think I had an appointment there with Yates some twelve hours ago, but up to this moment I had forgotten it. Good-night.”
Margaret stood for a few moments alone, and wondered what she had done to offend him. He stumbled along the dark road, not heeding much the direction he took, but automatically going the nearest way to the tent. Fatigue and the want of sleep were heavy upon him, and his feet were as lead. Although dazed, he was conscious of a dull ache where his heart was supposed to be, and he vaguely hoped he had not made a fool of himself. He entered the tent, and was startled by the voice of Yates:
“Hello! hello! Is that you, Stoliker?”
“No; it is Renmark. Are you asleep?”
“I guess I have been. Hunger is the one sensation of the moment. Have you provided anything to eat within the last twenty-four hours?”
“There’s a bag full of potatoes here, I believe. I haven’t been near the tent since early morning.”
“All right; only don’t expect a recommendation from me as cook. I’m not yet hungry enough for raw potatoes. What time has it got to be?”
“I’m sure I don’t know.”