er.

"It seems to me," he said fiercely, "that you are asking a good many
questions. Which side pays you?"

They were tossing now on the rapid little waves in the center of the
river; she had all she could do to keep the punt steady and drive it
toward the spot where, against the stars, the oaks lifted their
clustered crests.

At the foot of the wooden stairs she tied her boat, and offered to
relight the pine knot, but he would not have it and made her grope up
the ascent before him.

Over the top of the bank she led him, under the trees, to her door, he
close at her heels, revolver in hand. And there, on the sill, she faced
him.

"What do you want here?" she asked; "supper?"

"Go into the house and strike a light," he said, and followed her in.
And, as she turned from the blazing splinter, he caught her by the arm,
feeling roughly for a concealed weapon. Face aflame, she struggled out
of his clutch; and he was as red as she as they confronted one another,
breathing heavily.

"I'm sorry," he stammered. "I'm--h-half-crazed, I think.... If you're
what you look, God knows I meant you no insult.... But--but--their
damned spies are everywhere. I've stood too much--I've been in hell for
two weeks----"

He wiped his mouth with a trembling, raw hand, but his sunken eyes still
glared and the pallor once more blanched his sunken face.

"I'll not touch you again," he said hoarsely; "I'm not a beast--not
_that_ kind. But I'm starving. Is there anything--_anything_, I tell
you? I--I am not--very--strong."

She looked calmly into the ravaged, but still boyish features; saw him
swing, reeling a little, on his heels as he steadied himself with one
hand against the table.

"Sit down," she said in a low voice.

He sank into a chair, resting the hand which clutched the revolver on
the table.

Without a word she went about the business of the moment, rekindled the
ashes, filled the fry pan with mush and bacon. A little while afterwards
she set the smoking food before him, and seated herself at the opposite
side of the table.

The boy ate wolfishly with one hand; the other seemed to have grown fast
to the butt of his heavy weapon. She could have bent and shot him under
the table had she wished; she could have taken him with her bare hands.

But she only sat there, dark, sorrowful eyes on him, and in pity for his
certain doom her under lip trembled at intervals so she could scarcely
control it.

"Is there a horse to be