“The woods,” he nodded. “She had the other door. She had a fair chance if she kept her head.” “And she knew the man through and through.” “The devil! He gnawed through those ropes like a rat.” The woman by his side grew pale. “It’s a miracle you’re alive,” she said. “I don’t know. I don’t know.” The old familiar phrase steadied her in one way and unsteadied her in another. It sent her thoughts back for a moment to the evening before. He did not know--any more than he knew then. But she--how much she had come to know in these last few hours! And yet not by the slightest token must she let him know that she knew. She must maintain a stricter guard over herself than ever before. She must be careful of her eyes, her speech, her hands--especially her hands. Lightly they caressed the cut over his temple, but only in the course of her duty. And his tousled hair was so near her now. A moment later, in the course of duty, she found a better opportunity. She wound strips of white bandage around and around his head, her fingers brushing his head--ever so gently, ever so lovingly, in the course of duty. And he, sitting very quiet, his eyes closed, felt them like kisses--ashamed at the thought. He did not know. Lord! he did not know even then--and might never know. The coffee began to boil. She left his side and poured some of the hot brew into a tin dipper and ordered him to drink it. After the first sip it is doubtful if he would have drunk it except under orders. She had sweetened it liberally but it was a muddy concoction. She gave him bits of the stale bread and ordered him to eat them. He obeyed--as smartly as though it were an order of the day. Quite without resentment, too. “Aren’t you going to join me?” he asked. She tried a little of the coffee and made up a wry face. “It isn’t very nice,” she admitted. He was about to agree with that when she added quickly: “But it’s good for you.” So he took his medicine--to the last drop. Up to this time she had been very busy. Now, after going out and getting another armful of wood, there seemed to be nothing to do but wait. He was too weak to walk and she did not dare to leave him even long enough to go back for help to one of those neighboring houses she had passed below. She had to wait--facing him. That is a difficult task--when one has a secret trembling in the eyes, on the lips, and on the tips of the fingers. CHAPTER XXVI Bud had never heard a woman cry as Roxie cried. He had heard them whine and heard them lament and seen their faces grow stolid with grief, but that was all in the day’s work. He was always able to pass on and forget. It was no affair of his, and women were doomed to a certain amount of that sort of thing.