erhaps more by him than she
had been by Tenney.

"No," she cried violently. "You can't do that. You mustn't. If you stay,
I've got to go."

"I can't have you up here in the woods alone," he reasoned.

She gave a little laugh. The quality of it was ironic. It made him
wonder what her laughter would be if she were allowed to savor the
quaintness of sheer fun. She spoke obliquely, yet accounting for the
laugh.

"What do you s'pose'd happen to me?"

"Nothing," he owned, comparing, as she meant him to, the safety of her
state up here, surrounded by the trees and the wind, and her prison with
the madman down below. "But I can't have it. Do you suppose I can go
down there and sleep in my bed?" He paused and began to coax. Charlotte
could have told her how beguiling he was when he coaxed. "I'll stay in
the other room and keep an eye out. I sha'n't sleep. I won't even
disturb you by tending the fire. You can do that. Come, is it a bargain.
It's the only safe thing to do, you know. Suppose he should come up here
in the night?"

"That's it," she said quietly. "S'pose he should? Do you want I should
be found up here with a man, any man, even you?"

He was silent, struck by her bitter logic. His heart, in the actual
physical state of it, ached for her. She would not let him save her, he
thought despairingly; indeed, perhaps she could not. For she alone knew
the noisome perils of her way. He relinquished his proposition, without
comment, and he could see at once what relief that gave her.

"Very well," he said, "I'll go down. But I shall certainly come back and
bring you some milk. Something to heat it in, too. Old Crow used to have
dishes, but they're gone. Lock the door after me. I'll call when I
come."

But she rose from her seat, put the baby on the couch and took the
blanket from the chair where he had spread it. There were still drops on
it, and she went to the other side of the room, at a safe distance from
the baby, and shook it. She had settled into a composure as determined
as his own.

"It's no use talkin'," she said. "I've got to go back."

"Go back?" He stared at her.

"Yes. What we've just said shows me. Nothin's more likely than his
comin' up here. He might reason it out. He knows I wouldn't go to any o'
the neighbors, an' he'd know I wouldn't let baby ketch his death, a
night like this, the storm an' all. An' if he found me here locked in,
even if there wa'n't nobody here with me, I dunno what he'd do.