"You keep still an' rest yourself a bit," Mrs. Papineau ordered, coming back to him and feeling his pulse gravely, whereat she made a wry face. She informed him that he undoubtedly had a fever and must remain absolutely quiet while she brewed him a decoction of potent herbs she had herself picked and stored away. Madge looked at Hugo again, anxiously, feeling that her careless handling of that little pistol was undoubtedly responsible for his illness. Their eyes met and he managed to smile. "A mere man can do nothing but obey when a woman commands, Miss Nelson," he declared, with a weak attempt at jocularity. "I'm sure it's dreadful stuff she's going to make me swallow. Still, I'm glad of a short rest." He drew his chair a little nearer, and, speaking in a lower voice, went on: "I'll tell you, Miss Nelson. We--we perhaps owe one another some explanations. It happens that I've found something. It's the queerest thing ever happened. I'd like to explain...." "What is the use, Mr. Ennis?" she replied, her voice revealing an intense discouragement. "And besides, you are ill now. It--it doesn't really matter what has happened, I suppose. I couldn't expect anything else, I dare say. I was a fool to come, to--to believe what I did. And--and I'm ashamed, it--it seems as if the least little pride that was left me has gone--gone for ever. Please--please don't say anything more. It distresses me and can't possibly do any good." She turned away from him to stare into the fire again and watch the little tongues of flame following threads of dry moss, till her face, which had colored for a moment, became pale again and her lips quivered at the thoughts that had returned to her. Uppermost was that feeling of shame of which she had spoken. She had realized that she had come to this man she had never met, ready to say: "Here I am, Madge Nelson, to whom you wrote in New York. If you really want me for your wife I am willing. In exchange for food, for rest, for a little peace of mind I am ready to try to learn to love you, to respect and obey you, and I will be glad to work for you, to keep your home, to do my duty like a diligent and faithful wife." But the man had looked at her with eyes genuinely surprised, because he had not really expected her. And of course she had found no favor in his sight. She was an inconvenient stranger whom he did not know how to get rid of, and on the spur of the moment he had found recourse in clumsy lies. By this time he had probably thought out some fables with which he expected to soothe her. At any rate he must despise her, in spite of the fact that he seemed to try to be civil and even kind. The important thing was that the end had come. In her little purse six or seven dollars were left, not enough to take her even half the distance to New York, to the great city she had learned to hate and fear. For nothing on earth would she have accepted money from Hugo. At least that shred of pride remained.