This was too feeble even for Pen, and she cried:

"No, never; I never want to see you again. You would kill me next."

"Stuff!" said I, and ran down-stairs. I seized my coat and hat, and went
to the tavern, where I got a man to drive me to Camden. I have never
seen Pen since. As I crossed the ferry to Philadelphia I saw that I
should have asked when the detective had been after me. I suspected from
Pen's terror that it had been recently.

It was Sunday and, as I reminded myself, the day before Christmas. The
ground was covered with snow, and as I walked up Market street my feet
were soon soaked. In my haste I had left my overshoes. I was very
cold, and, as I now see, foolishly fearful. I kept thinking of what a
conspicuous thing a fire-red head is, and of how many people knew me.
As I reached Woodbury early and without a cent, I had eaten nothing all
day. I relied on Pen.

Now I concluded to go down into my old neighborhood and get a lodging
where no references were asked. Next day I would secure a disguise and
get out of the way. I had passed the day without food, as I have just
said, and having ample means, concluded to go somewhere and get a good
dinner. It was now close to three in the afternoon. I was aware of two
things: that I was making many plans, and giving them up as soon as
made; and that I was suddenly afraid without cause, afraid to enter an
eating-house, and in fear of every man I met.

I went on, feeling more and more chilly. When a man is really cold his
mind does not work well, and now it was blowing a keen gale from the