He stood his snowshoes behind the door and pulled off his heavy outer coat. The girl turned back to the stove. The grandfathers came in with the milk pails. Flora did not speak a dozen words during supper. Mrs. Ducat returned to her husband immediately after supper, the old men fell to arguing and smoking beside the stove, and Jim and Flora washed the dishes. Flora washed and Jim dried. The girl was nervous and the young man was decidedly cool. He wasn't worrying about the possible effect upon himself of the assault upon Amos Hammond, but he was hurt and disappointed and offended at the thought that this girl, his friend, could for a moment believe him capable of firing on an unarmed man.
"Will you go to-night?" she asked, clattering the dishes in the pan. "I have it all planned for you and everything ready."
"No, I won't!"
"Then I have to go myself," she whispered, with bowed head and averted face.
"You, Flora? What are you thinking of? Why should you go?"
"To get away! To escape!"
"What are you talking about?"
She turned her head and looked at him with a flushed face and eyes flashing green through tears.
"Flora, what do you mean?" he continued. "Why did you say that?"
"I—I must get away—before morning—from the police!"