Wallace was undecided for a moment, I believe. But, to tell the truth, I had spoken rather too sharply to him a little time before. My only excuse is that I was exceedingly worried. Rotten as he felt, he was bound to be nettled. “No,” he said; “I will go on.” It was obvious that he was suffering from an attack of something akin to indigestion. I was unable, though, to make head or tail of his attack. When I pressed him for information, he told me he had swallowed some shaving-soap, mistaking it in the dark for chocolate. He had hardly any pain, but our pace decreased gradually to a crawl as we neared the crest of the spur of hills, where the path which I had used on my first escape branched off. Not having a torch, I missed it, but discovered my mistake about two hundred yards beyond. We had come out of the forest. Plowed fields on our right had given me the first hint of my error. “We’ll have to turn back. I’ve missed the path,” I informed my friend. “I can’t move any farther. I must lie down,” answered Wallace indistinctly, swaying on his feet. Too miserable to say anything, I led him back, and some way into the timber got out his flimsy sleeping-bag, and put him inside. Then I felt his pulse. It was going at the rate of about one hundred and thirty a minute. “How do you feel?” I asked. “Done for, old man. But don’t you worry. You go on. No use spoiling your chance. You leave me here. I’ll be all right.” “I’m not going to leave you, except for a few minutes. I want to find that path. I’ll be back in a quarter of an hour. You’ll be all right that long, won’t you?” I was still hoping for a miraculous recovery, although Wallace’s rapid pulse had upset me sorely. My mind was tenaciously holding to the idea of “carrying on,” and I wished to know how to get my companion on the right road without wasting his precious strength. It took me less than ten minutes to find the path. The groping about in the darkness of the wood had taken my mind off the real issue. Now, on my way back, I had to face the ugly situation we were in. I had not enough medical knowledge to gage the insignificance of the accelerated heart action, and thus almost feared the worst. If only he could be sick! Perhaps he was going to die on my hands! If he lived through the night, could I hope that his strength would return to him on the morrow and allow us to proceed? One thing was out of the question: I could not leave him alone, even if he was out of danger and in shelter, for we were both fully persuaded that, in the event of capture, we should be sent to a penal prison. But what was to be done? Wallace could not lie out in the cold the rest of the night and all the next day. The only shelter reasonably near was the barn, which we had passed some time before. We should have to go back to it. We had to reach it, even if I had to carry him.