Neither of them spoke till the storm had worn itself nearly out and the thunder had rumbled away in the distance. They were both hard at work, thinking. Meg was shedding tears at the thought that her short lived freedom had come to an end; while her companion was fighting for her freedom in his heart. Should he tell her what would set her free? Should he throw away from his own life the only thing that gave it happiness? At one moment he made up his mind that he would keep the girl in ignorance of the truth, at the next the sight of that little head buried in the bracken made him feel that any sacrifice on his part was worth making to secure her happiness. At last he sat up. "Meg," he said. The girl did not answer or look at him. She was feeling too miserable to make the effort, and too tired. Now that the prospect of freedom had been taken from her, all her strength seemed to have ebbed away, and she knew she was hungry and deadly weary. "If I hadn't come just when I did," said the man, "you'd have been in the place of that tree I take it. You were sitting right in the line. I saw the flash go over your head. Ain't you glad I saved you, Meg?" "I don't know," said the girl slowly: "no, I think I'm sorry. I'd as lief be dead than go back to 'em all. The earth is kind: I don't see why I should mind lying here for ever: I think I'd like it." She gave a great sob as she spoke, and buried her head deeper in the bracken. Her companion was silent for some time, still struggling within himself; then he said, looking away from the prostrate figure of the girl. "There ain't no need as I know of for you to go back at all." Meg sat up, while a look of incredulity crossed her face. "But ain't you sent to fetch me?" she asked. "No; they said you'd come back quick enough when you were hungry. I came on my own account." "Oh, Jem, why did you come?" she asked reproachfully. "I want to be lost to 'em. I don't want ever to go back. Hunger won't drive me. I'm hungry now, but I'd starve, rather than that. I hate 'em, mother and father and all," Meg's voice rang out with passion and pain. "If I can't get as far as Minton," she added, "I'll just go to sleep in the heather and not wake up." "Are you very hungry, Meg?" "Yes," said the girl bluntly. "You've had no breakfast?" "No, I started as soon as there was a streak of light in the sky, and I've been walking ever since. What's the time?" "It's getting on for six o'clock. If you don't make haste the sun will set and you won't get to Minton before dark." The girl turned and gazed at her companion with a look of surprise. "You seem to want me to go," she said. Jem did not answer. He looked away from her towards the western sky. The dark clouds had disappeared and the setting sun was shedding its radiance once more over the heath. Meg noticed almost unconsciously how it lighted up Jem's face. She moved a little nearer to her companion.