“Just that—my liberty and honor. Suppose you were to let people know that I am here—that a stranger had come here by air? What would become of me? I might run into the woods and hide—and starve. The game would be played out and ended, whatever I did.”
“But you have never thought that there was any danger of such a thing!”
“Never. Not for a moment. But what right had I to treat you like this—to tell you the truth about myself and then throw myself on your mercy? You must think me a poor thing.”
“You have not asked for mercy from me; and you have told me that any man of spirit would have done what you did.”
“Any man of spirit and jangled nerves.”
They returned to the barn-yard in silence. There they lit the lantern.
“Don’t forget to put on the old clothes,” she said. “And please give me that coat now. I will take good care of it, ribbons and all; and I will give it back to you when you want to fly away from here.”
“I have neither the petrol nor the desire for flight,” he returned. “There are letters in the pockets, so please hide it securely.”
He took off the jacket, folded it and laid it over her arm.
“Good night,” she said, and hurried away.