Pen clasped her hands in a sort of despair. Another obstinate man to be argued with! "They could! They could!" she cried. "You don't understand. I couldn't bring the paper to you because it would have been missed. But you must read it later. Then you'll see. My father is just like other men. They all seem to act in a herd. They have made up their minds that you did it. They are determined you sha'n't escape. Your trial would be a mockery." He was impressed by her earnestness. "Just the same ... I couldn't run," he said slowly. "You mustn't do anything on impulse," Pen urged. "You must read the newspaper and find out where you stand. You must give yourself up if you so decide, but not allow yourself to be caught." He seemed to be convinced, but he did not take the matter seriously enough to suit Pen. He seemed to be thinking more of her than of his own situation. He took a step nearer to her. "How fine of you to come to warn me!" he said warmly. Pen retreated into deeper water. "_Please!_" she said sharply. "There is not an instant to lose!" "But if I've got to go ... I must thank you," he said. It was not part of Pen's plan to let him go, but not wishing to provoke another argument, she let the words pass for the moment. "Anyhow, come out of the water," he pleaded. "Your feet must be chilled through." He put down a paddle at the edge of the water and Pen stepped out on it. He looked at her longingly. "Hurry! Hurry!" Pen said. With a sigh he commenced to pull up the pegs that fastened down his tent. It was soon bundled into the canoe together with his grub-box, his valise, and the odds and ends of his baggage. "Get in," he said. "I'll paddle you back to the wharf." Pen sat down in the bottom of the canoe while he perched on the stern seat wielding the paddle with the easy grace of long custom. She watched him through her lashes. The moon was behind him, silhouetting his strong frame and making a sort of aureole about his bare head. The tide was high and the water had risen to within three feet of the floor of the wharf. Pen climbed out upon it. "Well, is this good-by?" he said dolefully, "No," said Pen breathlessly. Her instinct told her there was another struggle of wills ahead. "You're not going. I'm going to keep you here." "What!" he cried. "Oh, if you knew how you tempted me!" "Tempt you!" she said crossly. "This is no time for sentiment!" "I couldn't let you," he said firmly. "Where could you go?" she demanded. "I'll manage to keep out of sight." "There is no place you could go!" she insisted. "The _Sun_-paper is read on the remotest creeks. Do you realize what a hue and cry will be raised in the morning? Fifty boats will be out searching the river, the bay, the creeks. How could you hope to escape? Where would you get food and fresh water?" "I'll find a way," he said stubbornly. "I'm going back to New York." "Stay here!" she pleaded.