"I do--I do. Please tell me everything you feel like telling; I'd like awfully to help you, to understand, to listen to you. You see, you've been so much with Hugh, I haven't had a chance to know you as he does.

And I guess--well--maybe I'm sort of shy."

She lifted her head at that, took his stroking hand and held it in both of hers under her chin, as a little girl holds her pet kitten for the pleasure of its warmth. "You must get over being shy with me, Pete. We both love Hugh; we both admire him so. I'd so love to talk to you about him--"

"Then do, Sylvie."

"I've never seen him," she sighed, "and you can see him all day long, Pete; will you try your best now to describe Hugh to me--every bit of him? Tell me the color of his eyes and the shape of his face and--everything. Tell me all you remember about him always."

"I--I'm no good at that, Sylvie. A fellow you see all day long--why, you don't know what he looks like, 'specially if he's your own brother."

"Well, you certainly know the color of his eyes."

"He has hazel eyes--I think you'd call them--"

"Yes?" she drank in his words eagerly, pressing his hand tighter in her excitement. "Go on. If only you were a girl, now, you'd do this so much better."

"I--I--but I don't know what else to say, Sylvie. He is very strong."

"Of course. I know that. Didn't he pick me up out of the snow and carry me home? He moved as though he had a feather on his arm. You are very strong too, Pete--_very_ strong. Are _your_ eyes hazel?"

"No; blue."

"I always liked blue eyes. I like to imagine that Hugh is just the Viking sort of man I dreamed about when I was a little girl. You think I'm a silly goose, don't you?"

"Yes, rather."

"Don't keep trying to pull your hand away, dear; you can't guess how it comforts me. I'm awfully alone here, and strange. I don't suppose you know how queer and frightening it's been--this getting lost and being brought here in the dark, and then--living on in the dark, just trusting my instincts, my intuitions, instead of my eyes. Voices tell a lot about people, don't they?--more than I ever dreamed they could. Pete, there is nothing in that--that splendid, generous thing Hugh did, the thing I am not to talk about, nothing to keep Hugh now from going back to the world--some place--that is, far away from where it happened--and beginning again, is there?"

"I hope not, Sylvie."

She sighed. "Of course it was wonderful. If he hadn't told me of it, I never should have known half of his greatness; yet I can't help wishing he were free. It's sad to think there will always be the memory of that dreadful suffering and danger in his life."

"Very sad," said Pete.

"How alone we both are--he and I! Bella, and you, Pete--don't be angry, please--I don't think you quite understand Hugh, quite appreciate him."

"Perhaps not."

"He has always been lonely. You are so young, and Bella is so stupid--stupid and cross."

"No, she isn't, Sylvie. I know Bella a lot better than you do. She's not stupid or cross--"

"Well, I like you to stick up for your old nurse. She certainly must have loved you a lot to bring you way out here and to stay here all these years to take care of you. I wonder where she'll go and what she'll do when Hugh and I get married. You're too old for a nurse now, Pete. Do you mind if I lean back against you that way? It's so comfortable. I'd be happier without Bella, Pete, you know."

"Would you, Sylvie? Well, Bella and I will have to go away together somewhere, I guess."

"I didn't say you, dear. I love you a lot--next best to Hugh. There's something awfully sweet about you--you great strong overgrown thing!

Your heart goes _thump-thump-thump-thump_, as though it was as big as the sun.... I feel much better and happier now. Things have got steady again. Only--I wish Hugh would come back."

Pete gave a strangled sigh.

"He'll be back." And he began to draw himself away from her. "I think I hear him now, Sylvie."

"Stay where you are," she laughed. "Don't be ashamed of being found with a sister leaning against you and holding your hand. Are you afraid of Hugh? I think sometimes he's rather hard with you--I'll have to speak to him about that. Oh"--in a sudden ecstasy--"how happy I am! I feel as light as the air. I want every one to be happy. Tell me when Hugh comes in how happy he looks, Pete--promise me, quick! There he is at the door now."

"Yes," he whispered, "I promise. Let me go, please, Sylvie."

He pulled himself away and stood up. At the instant, the door was opened and shut quickly, stealthily. It was Hugh, breathing hard, gray with fear.

"They're coming," he said harshly. "Pete, they're after me. Men are coming across the flat."

CHAPTER VII

"Did they see you?" Pete demanded anxiously.

"I don't think so." Hugh was breathing fast; he had evidently fled across the snow at top speed.

"Get in, then, quick--out of sight." Pete was already tearing up boards above that long-waiting place of hiding. Hugh was about to step down into it when he glanced up and saw Sylvie. She was standing as the unseeing stand in moments of frightened bewilderment, her hands clasped, her head turning from side to side. "Look here," whispered Hugh, still absorbed in his own danger, "don't let them know that Sylvie just wandered in here. Don't let them start asking her any questions; it's too dangerous. Let her be--one of the family." He smiled maliciously.

"Let her be your wife, Pete." Then, as though that picture had fired his love through its hint of jeopardy, he held out both arms suddenly: "Come here, Sylvie--lead her to me, Pete."

The boy obeyed. But as her uncertain arms trembled about Hugh's shoulders Pete turned sharply away. He heard the quick, anxious murmur of their voices:

"Hugh, dearest--are you afraid?" And his: "Trust me, little darling.

Love me." A kiss.

Then a sharp, whispered summons: "Quick, can't you, Pete? Get these boards down."

When Pete turned, Hugh had dropped into the darkness, and Sylvie stood flushed and with her hands over her face.

Bella had meantime been collecting the most characteristic of Hugh's belongings--those that could not be supposed to belong to Pete--and now thrust them down into the hiding-place. The boards were rearranged, the rug laid evenly over them. Then the three stood staring at one another, listening helplessly to the nearing sounds.

"Oh, Pete," Sylvie gasped, "tell me what I must do--or what I ought to say."

"Tell them," said Bella, "what Hugh told you--that you are Pete's wife.

They'll be looking for a different household from that, and it will help to put them off."

"But--but Pete won't look old enough."

"Yes, he will. He looks older than you," Bella declared harshly. "You sit down and keep quiet; that's the best you can do; and for G.o.d's sake don't look so scared. There's a grave outside to show them, and n.o.body digs up a six-year-old grave. They won't find Hugh. n.o.body's ever seen him. Don't shake so, Sylvie. They may not even be after him; this country has sheltered other outlaws, you know. Hush! I hear them. I'll be in the kitchen. Pete, be taking off your outdoor clothes. They'll have seen Hugh's tracks even if they haven't seen him, so somebody's got to have just come in. Be whistling and talking, natural and calm.

Remember we're all at home, just quiet and happy--no reason to be afraid. That's it."

Through her darkness Sylvie heard the knocking and Pete's opening of the door, the sc.r.a.ping of snow, the questions, the simplicity of Pete's replies.

Then she was made known. "My wife, gentlemen!" And a moment later: "My mother!" And she heard Bella's greeting, loud and cheerful like that of a woman who is glad to see a visitor. Chairs were drawn up and cigarettes rolled and lighted. She smelt the sharp sweetness of the smoke. There was brief talk of the weather; Sylvie felt that while they talked, the two strangers searched the place and the faces of its inmates with cold, keen, suspicious eyes. She was grateful now for her blindness. There came a sharp statement: