“Damn it! What’s that to you?”
“Nothing. Only Snuyder’s gone.”
“When?”
“Some days ago, leaving me to ferry folk over.... He told me how to answer you when you called like a cock-o’-the-pines.”
“Did he?” The voice was subdued and sullen.
For a while he remained motionless, then, in the dull light of the fog-shrouded stars she saw him face her, and caught the faint sparkle of his weapon resting on his knees, covering her.
“It seems to me,” he said fiercely, “that you are asking a good many questions. Which side pays you?”
They were tossing now on the rapid little waves in the center of the river; she had all she could do to keep the punt steady and drive it toward the spot where, against the stars, the oaks lifted their clustered crests.
At the foot of the wooden stairs she tied her boat, and offered to relight the pine knot, but he would not have it and made her grope up the ascent before him.
Over the top of the bank she led him, under the trees, to her door, he close at her heels, revolver in hand. And there, on the sill, she faced him.