He was determined, if she should come again, to intercept his visitor. For forty-eight hours he tried cat-naps with an occasional sandwich to keep up his strength. Nan returned unseen, and disappeared despite his watchfulness. A new supply of food proved she had been near, but that it would be hard to time her coming. When she did come, the third time, an innocent snare discovered her presence. It was just before day, and de Spain had so scattered small obstacles--handfuls of gravel and little chips of rock--that should she cross the ledge in the dark she could hardly escape rousing him. The device betrayed her. "I'm awake," announced de Spain at once from his retreat. When she stopped at the words he could not see her; she had flattened herself, standing, against a wall of the ledge. He waited patiently. "You give me no chance to thank you," he went on after a pause. Nan, drawing nearer, put down a small parcel. "I don't need any thanks," she replied with calculated coolness. "I am hoping when you are well enough you will go away, quietly, in the night. That will be the only way you can thank me." "I shall be as glad to go as you can be to have me," rejoined de Spain. "But that won't be thanking you as I am going to. If you think you can save my life and refuse my thanks as I mean to express them--you are mistaken. I will be perfectly honest. Lying out here isn't just what I'd choose for comfort. But if by doing it I could see you once in two or three days----" "You won't see me again." "No news could be worse. And if I can't, I don't know how I'm going to get out at all. I've no horse--you know that. I can't stand on my foot yet; if you had a light you might see for yourself. I think I showed you my gun. If you could tell me where I am----" He halted on the implied question. Nan took ample time to reply. "Do you mean to tell me you don't know where you are?" she asked, and there was a touch of vexed incredulity in her tone. De Spain seemed unmoved by her scepticism. "I can't tell you anything else," he said simply. "You couldn't have any idea I crawled up here for the fun of it." "I've been trying to think," she returned, and he perceived in the hardness of her voice how at bay she felt in giving him the least bit of information, "whether I ought to tell you anything at all----" "I couldn't very decently take any unfair advantage after what you've done, could I?" "Then--you are in Morgan's Gap," she said swiftly, as if she wanted it off her mind. There was no movement of surprise, neither was there any answer. "I supposed, when I found you here, you knew that," she added less resolutely; the darkness and silence were plainly a strain.