seless
to expect her and the Angel today, and God save them from coming! The
Angel's father had said they would be as safe in the Limberlost as at
home. What would he think of this?

The sweat broke on Freckles' forehead. He tugged at the ropes whenever
he felt that he dared, but they were passed around the tree and his body
several times, and knotted on his chest. He was helpless. There was no
hope, no help. And after they had conspired to make him appear a runaway
thief to his loved ones, what was it that Wessner would do to him?

Whatever it was, Freckles lifted his head and resolved that he would
bear in mind what he had once heard the Bird Woman say. He would go out
bonnily. Never would he let them see, if he grew afraid. After all, what
did it matter what they did to his body if by some scheme of the devil
they could encompass his disgrace?

Then hope suddenly rose high in Freckles' breast. They could not do
that! The Angel would not believe. Neither would McLean. He would keep
up his courage. Kill him they could; dishonor him they could not.

Yet, summon all the fortitude he might, that saw eating into the tree
rasped his nerves worse and worse. With whirling brain he gazed into
the Limberlost, searching for something, he knew not what, and in blank
horror found his eyes focusing on the Angel. She was quite a distance
away, but he could see her white lips and angry expression.

Last week he had taken her and the Bird Woman across the swamp over the
path he followed in going from his room to the chicken tree. He had told
them the night before, that the butterfly tree was on the line close to
this path. In figuring on their not coming that day, he failed to reckon
with the enthusiasm of the Bird Woman. They must be there for the study,
and the Angel had risked crossing the swamp in search of him. Or was
there something in his room they needed? The blood surged in his ears as
the roar of the Limberlost in the wrath of a storm.

He looked again, and it had been a dream. She was not there. Had she
been? For his life, Freckles could not tell whether he really had seen
the Angel, or whether his strained senses had played him the most cruel
trick of all. Or was it not the kindest? Now he could go with the vision
of her lovely face fresh with him.

"Thank You for that, oh God!" whispered Freckles. "'Twas more than kind
of You and I don't s'pose I ought to be wanting anything else; but
if You can, oh, I wish I could