'Is there no place to hide in?' he muttered; 'is there not a rock, not a stone? Is it all bare—bare and accursed. They will come hunting at daybreak.'
'Do they know you are away?'
'Know? Every day I baulk them and beat them. I lie hid, and I hear their feet on the stones above me. I see the shine of their steel through the gaps. Where can I hide? You are of the coast?'
'Yes.'
'Where can I hide? Hide me. If you betray me I will kill you—somehow.'
Musa did not answer. She was thinking.
'I know of one place,' she said slowly.
'On the shore?'
'No. Inland; a little way.'
He rose with difficulty; a tall, gaunt, terrible form, black and weird against the shining sea and the starry skies.
'Lead me there. Remember, I need no knife to kill you. You are young, and to me are little.'
'I am not afraid that you should kill me.'
She spoke the truth; she was not afraid. An immense pity, and what was that stronger sister of pity—sympathy—was in her for the hunted, houseless man, and the strength of
