Texas waited in suspense and curiosity. He did not know how long Mark might be in there, but he was resolved to stick it out. Then suddenly, to his surprise, the door was opened again, and Mark and the girl stepped out.
She was leaning upon his arm, and hurrying him forward quickly. She was evidently in great distress, and from what the hidden listener heard, Mark was striving his best to comfort her. The two figures hurried across the clearing and vanished in the woods. Texas arose from his position.
"I reckon it's all right," he muttered. "It's blamed mysterious, but there's nothin' mo' fo' me to do."
And suiting the action to the word the faithful Southerner turned and set out rapidly for camp.
Mark, when he entered Mary Adams' house, found her standing before him, a picture of misery and fright. He demanded to know what was wrong.
"Come, come!" the girl cried. "Quick. I cannot tell you. Oh! Come and see."
She flung a shawl about her shoulders, seized Mark by the arm in a convulsive grip, and together they hurried through the woods.
It was a little footpath they followed. Mark had no idea where they were going in the deep black darkness. He abandoned himself entirely to the girl's guidance, trusting that no slight matter could have taken her there, and he was right.
The girl said not a word during the trip. She kept her face hidden in the shawl, and only a sob told Mark the state of her feelings. He was growing more mystified and curious every moment.
On, on they went. They must have been hurrying continually for at least five minutes, the girl dragging the cadet faster and faster, when suddenly she turned and left the path.