She perceived only silent rebuke, even resentment, in Dick's countenance when she stole glances at the hard profile above the old man's knitted scarf. It was plain that he did not relish his job. She wondered whether he believed that her errand was useless. When, after a time, she tried to draw some opinion out of him he gave her no replies that aided her. She felt acutely that she needed sympathy--something for her encouragement. The old man's taciturnity hinted that he could be trusted with a secret so far as outsiders were concerned; as to Flagg, she was not sure of Dick's reliability in keeping anything away from a master to whom he was devoted. But if the old man were kept away from Adonia---- "Do I understand that you're to stay north until I'm ready to go back?" "I've got to. It's orders." She was choking with the desire to tell him who she was. The lie which she had told him in the tavern was a rankling memory--he had been such a pitiful figure that day. Again she looked behind. There were many miles between her and Adonia, and the doors of the woods kept closing. "I need all your help in this thing. I must have a faithful friend. It is the one great effort of my life. You can understand so well! I--I _am_ Lida Kennard!" Rickety Dick threw up his arms. The reins fell from his hands. "Praise the Lord!" he yelled. The discarded reins slapped the big bays, the shout in that silence caused them to leap wildly. The tote road was rough and rocky and the equipage was light. Almost instantly the horses tore the tongue from the jumper, which was trigged by a bowlder. The animals crashed around in a circle through the underbrush, leaped into the tote road, and went galloping back toward Adonia, seeking their stalls and safety. Dick rose from where he had fallen and rushed to the girl, who was clinging to the seat of the jumper. He took her in his arms, comforting her as he would have soothed a child. He wept frankly and babbled incoherently. A part of his emotion was concern for her, but more especially was it joy because she had discovered herself to him. "It was in me--the hope that it was you. But I buried it; I buried it," he sobbed. For some moments he was too much absorbed to note the plight in which they had been left. Then his laments were so violent that the girl was obliged to soothe him in her turn. "But when those horses rush into the yard! Think of it! He'll cal'late we're killed. Him penned there in his chair with worry tearing at him! I must get the word to him." In his frantic care for the master's peace of mind he ran away down the road, forgetting that he was abandoning the girl.