"Joan Moss is still alive."
A strong light and a new hope came into Farwell's sad eyes. He had a hold
on the future! With the possibility of supplanting Ledyard in Pine's
ideas of loyalty and economics what might not happen?
And so they started back.
It was midnight, four days after Farwell had left home, that he entered
his own door again. The return trip had been rushed, much to Pine's
approbation. Priscilla was quietly sewing at the table when Farwell,
having loudly bidden the Indian good night, came into the living-room.
The girl's alarmed glance turned to one of relieved welcome when she saw
Farwell. She had some food ready for him--every night she had been
prepared--and he ate it ravenously. She noted how white and weary he
looked, but the triumphant expression in his sad eyes did not escape her,
either.
"You have good news?" she asked as soon as Farwell had rested a bit by
his fireside.
"Yes. And you?"
"Oh! I have done famously. Only two knocks at the door, and I was well
hidden. Once it was Mrs. McAdam and once old Jerry. They did not try to
enter."
"They would not.
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