“In the lumber!” He had stopped rowing, and was leaning forward. Had her own excitement been less, she could hardly have failed to observe the eager note in his voice.
“Yes—oh, I know about it. But it's no use saying anything. They will never catch the head man—he is too smart for them—” Beveridge took her hand, and held it gently in both his own. “Don't let's think any more about any of them, Madge. I don't wonder it excites you—it would anybody. But you are through with them all now.” She sat up, rigid, and looked at him. “Are you sure I am?”
“Yes.”
“But how? Joe is my husband. Tell me what you mean. What am I to think? You see what I have done. I have let you bring me out here; I have—I have told you things that could put Joe in prison. Do you—do you mean that you can help me—that I can get free from him?”
For a moment Beveridge thought of turning and rowing back. But he was not yet through. The conversation had taken an unexpected turn, but he would not retreat now.
“You are willing to be free?” he whispered. “Oh—yes.”
“To leave him forever?”
“Yes.”
“Then we understand each other, Madge. It may take some time.”
“I don't care—I don't care for anything now.”