"Not that," my lady whispered, so I knelt down by her, and she stroked my forehead.
"I didn't catch your words," said Pete.
"Promise," my lady whispered, "there must be no murder."
"Tell her, Pete," said I, "there'll be no murder. I can't let her off with that—give her fair warning."
Pete rode away slow.
"Wife," I whispered—we spoke in whispers, because it was the end of the world to us two—"you trust me?"
She kissed my forehead.
"Tell me," she said, "one thing. Polly was not dead?"
"She shammed dead. She's alive, Kate. She's coming here. Take David away. Take him to South Cave, to Father Jared's camp."
"What will you do?"