He nodded. She lifted him almost like a child to his feet. A spasm of
pain passed over his face. "How far is it?" he asked.

"Not more than ten minutes," she replied.

"I can make a spurt for that time," he said coolly, and began to walk
slowly but steadily on. Only his face, which was white and set, and the
convulsive grip of his hand on her arm betrayed the effort. At the
end of ten minutes she stopped. They stood before the splintered,
lightning-scarred shaft in the opening of the woods, where Low had built
her first camp-fire. She carefully picked up the herbarium, but her
quick eye had already detected in the distance, before she had allowed
Dunn to enter the opening with her, that her note was gone. Low had been
there before them; he had been warned, as his absence from the cabin
showed; he would not return there. They were free from interruption--but
where had he gone?

The sick man drew a long breath of relief as she seated him in the
clover-grown hollow where she had slept the second night of her stay.
"It's cooler than those cursed woods," he said. "I suppose it's because
it's a little like a grave. What are you going to do now?" he added, as
she brought a cup of water and placed it at his side.

"I am going to leave you here for a little while," she said cheerfully,
but with a pale face and nervous hands. "I'm going to leave you while I
seek Low."

The sick man raised his head. "I'm good for a spurt, Teresa, like that
I've just got through, but I don't think I'm up to a family party.
Couldn't you issue cards later on?"