Again both were silent. The baby in her arms commenced to fret. She soothed and patted it to sleep—softly, sadly crooning to it. By this time, the lingering twilight had faded out; it was quite dark in the forest. Advancing to her side, Douglas laid his hand upon her arm and began: “Amy Larkin——” “Amy Hilliard!” she interrupted shrilly. He drew back as though a venomous insect had stung him. Her voice grated harshly upon his nerves. To his overwrought imagination, she seemed a lost soul mocking at its own misery. Taking her by the arm, he remarked quietly: “You’re tired. There’s no use in your standing. Seat yourself upon this log.” Silently she obeyed, trembling in every limb. Picking up her cloak, he placed it around her shoulders. His act of kindness softened her feelings; and her voice was tremulous as she said simply: “Thank you!” He stood looking down upon her, conflicting thoughts and emotions rioting in his brain. At last he murmured huskily: “And you are Amy Larkin no longer—you are Amy Hilliard.” “Yes, I’m Amy Hilliard.”—Her voice again hard and bitter.—“I must bear the hated name to my grave.” “You are George Hilliard’s wife.” “I am.” Her words were scarcely audible. “And the child?” “Is mine.” “And his?” “Yes. I—am—his—wife; this—is—our—child!” Each word fell separately, like a ringing brazen coin. Then she screamed excitedly: “But my innocent child shall never blush for its father—it shall never know him! I hate him—I loathe him! The brute—the coward—the murderer! Oh! that I had never seen him——” “Sh!” he cautioned. “You’re talking too loud. Remember we are surrounded by sharp-eared, lynx-eyed enemies. Where were you going—what were you trying to do, when I met you?” “Trying to escape,” she panted in a strident whisper. “Softly!” he again cautioned. “From whom were you trying to escape?” “From my captors, the Indians at Fort Miami—and from George Hilliard.” “I can’t understand,” he replied wonderingly. “Is your—your husband among the British, at their encampment just below here?” “Yes.” “Then you and the child must return to him,” Ross answered firmly, decidedly. “Never!” she hissed through her set teeth. “We’ll find a grave in the river first. I hate him, I tell you—I despise and loathe him!”—Then pleadingly: “Oh, Ross Douglas! If one spark of the old love for me yet burns in your bosom, save me—save me!” “But what can I do?” he asked in perplexity. “You are _his_ wife—the child is his——” “Save me!” she interrupted. “I’m trying to reach the fort across the river. You belong there—I know you do. Take me and my baby with you—_please_ do!”