“How far is it?”
“About seven miles to the nearest clearing—by the right way. By any other way—hundreds of miles! But I know the right one.”
“Seven miles. That’s not far. Two hours—or so. When shall we start? But you must be tired out. Of course you are!”
“I don’t believe I’d know the marks in this storm. It will thin up in a few hours, I think. Are you feeling better?”
“Right as rain,” he said, scrambling to his feet. He staggered a step, stood swaying and propped an arm to the nearest wall for support. He misjudged the distance, or the length of his arm, and would have fallen but for her. She sprang to him, embraced him and eased him to the floor. “But still a trifle dizzy,” he added.
She crouched beside him, with a shoulder to steady him, but with her face averted.
“Any chance of their returning to see how I am doing?” he asked.
She shook her head. “They are too clever for that,” she replied. “They will go to the village, and then home. People will see them and talk to them. They have traveled away from here as fast as they could, and left everything to—to nature.”
“But a man doesn’t starve to death in a few hours, nor in a few days. Suppose I simply sat here until a search-party found me?”
“Alone? As they intended. Without fire? You would freeze to death before a search-party was thought of.”