Clay had not moved since the horses turned of their own accord
into the valley of the palms. He no longer feared pursuit nor
any interruption to their further progress. His only sensation
was one of utter thankfulness that they were all well out of it,
and that Hope had been the one who had helped them in their
trouble, and his dearest thought was that, whether she wished or
not, he owed his safety, and possibly his life, to her.

She still crouched between his knees upon the broad footboard,
with her hands clasped in front of her, and looking ahead into
the vista of soft mysterious lights and dark shadows that the
moon cast upon the road. Neither of them spoke, and as the
silence continued unbroken, it took a weightier significance, and
at each added second of time became more full of meaning.

The horses had dropped into a tired walk, and drew them smoothly
over the white road; from behind the hood came broken snatches of
the boys' talk, and above their heads the heavy leaves of the
palms bent and bowed as though in benediction. A warm breeze
from the land filled the air with the odor of ripening fruit and
pungent smells, and the silence seemed to envelop them and mark
them as the only living creatures awake in the brilliant tropical
night.

Hope sank slowly back, and as she did so, her shoulder touched
for an instant against Clay's knee; she straightened herself and
made a movement as though to rise. Her nearness to him and
something in her attitude at his feet held Clay in a spell. He
bent forward and laid his hand fearfully upon her shoulder, and