Impulsively she moved forward with
hands that wanted to stretch themselves in appeal.
"Zora! Zora! _You_ mustn't go, too!"
But the black girl drew proudly back.
"I _am_ there," she returned, with unmistakable simplicity of absolute
conviction.
The white woman shrank back. Her heart was wrung; she wanted to say
more--to explain, to ask to help; there came welling to her lips a flood
of things that she would know. But Zora's face again was masked.
"I must go," she said, before Mary could speak. "Good-bye." And the dark
groaning depths of the cabin swallowed her.
With a satisfied smile, Harry Cresswell had seen the Northern girl
disappear toward the swamp; for it is significant when maidens run from
lovers. But maidens should also come back, and when, after the lapse of
many minutes, Mary did not reappear, he followed her footsteps to the
swamp.
He frowned as he noted the footprints pointing to Elspeth's--what did
Mary Taylor want there? A fear started within him, and something else.
He was suddenly aware that he wanted this woman, intensely; at the
moment he would have turned Heaven and earth to get her. He strode
forward and the wood rose darkly green above him. A long, low, distant
moan seemed to sound upon the breeze, and after it came Mary Taylor.
He met her with tender solicitude, and she was glad to feel his arm
beneath hers.
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