As before, he could form no adequate answer.
His mind was busy with this problem when, with startling suddenness, his attention was caught and held by the low sound of voices.
“Have you signed?” It was a man who spoke. The voice was not gruff; a low, smooth, persuasive voice, too smooth, too persuasive.
Quite in contrast was the answer. Unmistakably feminine, it came sharp and crisp as the crash of icicles fallen from the eaves. “I will never sign.”
“But consider.” The man’s voice was not raised, still smooth, persuasive. “You are on an island.”
“An island. I thought so,” Red whispered to himself. “But who can this girl be?” That the one beyond the partition was a girl he did not doubt.
“I will never sign!” the girl broke in upon the other’s oily speech. “My father owes you nothing.”
“Consider,” the other persisted. “You are on a narrow island within a bay. The water of the bay is icy cold. You might swim it in safety, though I doubt it. Should you succeed, it would be but to find yourself upon a much larger island. That island is fifteen miles from the nearest mainland, a hundred from the farthest. Can you swim that, or row it even if you should find a boat? Ah, no. The waters of this great lake are terrible in their fury. And Superior never gives up her dead.”
There was something so sepulchral about these last words that the listening boy shuddered in spite of himself.
“On such an island there are people.” The girl’s tone was stubborn, defiant.