self to pulling down the brushwood fence. A breach was easily and not noisily made; and both moon and stars were still crisp in the sky when Tom painfully followed the girl’s lead, and the two plunged together into the open bush.
“Djue east,” repeated Peggy, stopping in the first thicket. “D’ye know the Southren Cross now? I’m afther misrememberin’ it meself.”
“Up yonder, Peggy. Those five.”
“An’ as like a cross as a han’-saw! But as ye know ’t ye can steer djue east by ’t, an’ djue east lies the say. If you’re wantin’ wather on the way, let the Southren Cross shine in your face an’ that’ll bring ye to the river. I heard ’em say so as I waited table.”
“I know, Peggy, I know. And when I get to the sea—if ever I do—well, at least my bones can sleep in it, instead of in this pestilent land!”
He stood eying her, eager to be gone, and yet reluctant to show ungrateful haste.
“An’ why would they?” cried Peggy. “It’s manny a convict has escaped on raf’s before ye, so why wouldn’t you? Only fetch up wid the say an’ there’s hope!”
“Then, Peggy, there’s no time to lose.” And his hand was out in an instant.
“Ah then, Tom, an’ must I be lavin’ ye?”
Her voice was altered.
“This is not the way to Castle Sullivan, Peggy; it’s the very opposite direction; and I’ve got you into trouble enough, goodness knows.”
Her lips parted as though more arguments were on her tongue; but it was upon his white face the moon was shining, and his eagerness to go, and go alone, was now transparent.
