las Grangerson, lost, both of them, what explanation could she make,
even to herself, of the position?

In the nearest cabin to the right some rough dry grass had been stored as
if for the bedding of an animal. It was too coarse for fodder. Silas made
her sit down on it to rest. Then he stood before her in the doorway.

For the first time in his life he seemed disturbed in mind.

"I'll have to go and get help," said he, "and find out where we are. It's
my fault. I'm sorry, but there's no use in going over that. You aren't fit
to walk. I'll go and leave you here. You won't be afraid to stay by
yourself?"

"No," said Phyl.

"You needn't be a bit, there's no danger here."

"I am thirsty," said she.

"Wait."

He went to the well head. The windlass and chain were there rusty but
practicable and a bucket lay amongst the grass. It was in good repair and
had evidently been used recently. He lowered it and brought up some water.
The water was clear diamond bright, and cold as ice. Having satisfied
himself that it was drinkable he brought the bucket to Phyl and tilted it
slightly whilst she drank. Then he put it by the door.

"Now I'll go," said he, "and I shan't be long. Sure you won't be afraid?"

"No," she replied.

"You're not angry with me?"

"No, I'm not angry."

He bent down, took her hand and kissed it. She did not draw it away or
show any sign of resentment; it was cold like the hand of a dead person.

He glanced back as he turned to go. She saw him stand at the doorway for a
moment looking down along the grass road, his figure cut against the blaze
of light outside, then the doorway was empty.

She was never to see him again.

* * * * *

Outside in the sunlight Silas hesitated for a moment as though he was
about to turn back, then he went on, striking along the grass road and
between the trees.

Although he had never been over the ground before, he guessed it to be a
part of the old Beauregard plantation and the distance from Grangerville
to be not more than eight miles as the crow flies. By the road, reckoning
from where the accident had occurred, it would be fifteen. But the lie of
the place or the distance from Grangersons mattered little to Silas. His
mind was going through a process difficult to describe.

Silas had never cared for anything, not even for himself. Danger or safety
did not enter into his calculations. Religion was for him the name of a