with something that was not fatigue from the fastening of her shoe.
"I know a way," she panted. "I shall be safe now."
It seemed as if shortness of breath were a contagion that had laid hold of both of them under the gray, solemn oak that moonlit night. Both of them knew well enough that they had no moments to gamble away, but she lingered. Her hand was still cold in the chill of her past fright.
"Have you heard from the north?" she asked eagerly, whispering close to his ear.
"The north?"
"I came to ask you; I wanted to know if you were—if you had a friend in the north who had sent you the news?"
"I haven't a friend in California," he replied, thinking in the same breath that he ought to be half-way up the hill by now.
"One, at least," she corrected him, touching his shoulder in assuring comfort, speaking hurriedly, the necessity of the moment urging her now. "Where is Roberto? Have you hurt him much?"
"Behind that tree, not hurt. He's likely to get loose any moment—I must go. Good-bye, Miss Sprague. My greatest wish is for your happiness."
"Go to my estate in the valley over there—it is near San Fernando Mission, the Sprague ranch—everybody knows it. I'll be there before you, unless you are taking a horse?"
"No."
