“Someone come!” he cried.
Over the brow of the knoll came Everard Colton. “My God!” he cried, and bounded toward them.
Like a flash, the juggler wormed himself into the oak patch, and emerging from the farther side sprinted over the hill and disappeared.
“Has he hurt you?” cried the young man.
“Helga, my dear! tell me he has not hurt——”
“No,” she said very low. “He was quite peaceable. He has escaped from jail. I think he is sane again and remorseful.”
“You must let me take you home,” he said. “You must! Good heavens, Helga, anything might have happened.”
Everard was shaking as with an ague. A wonderful softness came into the girl’s face. “Were you coming to speak to me?”
“To say good-bye,” he said.
“Good-bye?” she repeated. “So soon? Must it——”