But she only sat there, dark, sorrowful eyes on him, and in pity for his certain doom her under lip trembled at intervals so she could scarcely control it.
“Is there a horse to be had anywhere near here?” he asked, pausing to swallow what his sunken jaws had been working on.
“No; the soldiers have taken everything.”
“I will pay—anything if you’ll let me have something to ride.”
She shook her head.
He went on eating; a slight color had come back into his face.
“I’m sorry I was rough with you,” he said, not looking at her.
“Why were you?”
He raised his head wearily.
“I’ve been hunted so long that I guess it’s turned my brain. Except for what you’ve been good enough to give me, I’ve had nothing inside me for days, except green leaves and bark and muddy water.... I suppose I can’t see straight.... There’s a woman they call the Special Messenger;—I thought they might have started her after me.... That shot at the ford seemed to craze me.... So I risked the ferry—seeing your light across—and not knowing whether Snuyder was still here or whether they had set a guard to catch me.... It was Red Ferry or starve; I’m too weak to swim; I waited too long.”