But not any Callista Lance had ever known; not the scornful beauty who throned herself among her mates and accepted the homage of mankind as her due; not the flushed, tremulous Callista of that [381] never-to-be-forgotten night at the window. This was not the young wife of the earlier married days--least of all the mother of his son, or the kindly friend, the stanch partner, who had tended on and served him here in the cave. This was a strange, fierce, half-distraught, shining-eyed Callista, a fit adventurer, if she list, to put forth toward his island. A little dark shawl was tied over her bright head; but from under its confining edges the fair locks, usually so ordered and placid, streamed loosely around the face which looked out white and fearful. Her dress was soaked about the edges and all up one side. It was stained with earth, there, too, ripped loose from the waist, and torn till it hung in long, streaming shreads. A deep scratch across her cheek bled unheeded, and a flying strand of hair had glued fast in it. Her shaking hands were bleeding too, and grimed with woods mold, her finger nails were packed with it, where she had fallen again and again and scrambled up. She walked staggeringly and breathed in gasps. "They--" she panted, then took two or three laboring breaths before she could go on. "They told me at Father Cleaverage's that they was goin' to send here and fetch you in--is that so?" "I reckon they are," the man beside the fire assented nervelessly. A wild look lightened over her face. She came stumblingly up to him. "Lance!" she choked. "Did you sure enough [382] _send_ that word by your father to the sheriff?--Did you _say_ you'd give up and go in--did you?" "Yes," he returned somberly. "I did, Callista. That's all that was left me." "My God!" she breathed. "And I couldn't believe it--not a word of it. But I just slipped out and come. I've got Gran'pappy's horse Maje and the Mandy mule tied down in the bushes below there, and--" Cleaverage glanced about him and, rising, began to roll together the blankets of his bed. "Yes," he repeated, in a sort of automatic fashion. "Pappy left me before midnight, and he was riding Satan. I reckon I ought to be moving right soon now. It must be sun-up outside, ain't it?" She looked at him with desperate doubt. "Lance!" she demanded, clutching his arm with her trembling hand. "What made you send Father Cleaverage with such word as that?--and never let me know!--Oh, Lance, what did you do it for? Bring them things and come on down quick. There may be time yet." He stared at her dumbly questioning for a moment. Long misery had made his wits slow. He plainly hesitated between thinking her the emissary sent from home for him and the understanding that she wanted him to escape. "Time?" he repeated. "Do you mean--?" [383] Her lips shaped "yes," her eyes fastened upon his face. He took it very quietly. Slowly he shook his head.