CHAPTER XXVI
THE CANE RIDGE MEETING HOUSE
THE spot where Noreen lay was not fifty feet distant, but my position gave me no glimpse of her through the tangled brush. Yet the woods were clearer on either side of the little thicket in which she was sheltered, so that nothing could approach from any direction, and escape my notice. I had no wish to sleep, although physically wearied and bruised almost from head to foot. There was no rest to my brain; no driving away of the thoughts engendered by this interview. Whatever of hope I had formerly clung to had been banished utterly by this last fragment of conversation. I had been frank, and pictured before her the entire situation; had outlined the only sure way of escape—and she had silently acquiesced. She had spoken no word of protest, expressed no faint desire to have it otherwise. She had even confessed that her accompanying me in flight arose from sudden impulse; that she had been driven onward by fear of what might befall her if she remained behind. The girl cared nothing for me beyond a mere colorless friendship,
306
