prospective father-in-law, in a large, liberal way.
"He is a botanist!" said Teresa, with a sudden childish animation that
seemed to keep up the grim humor of the paternal suggestion; "and oh,
he is too poor to buy books! I sent for one or two for him myself, the
other day--" she hesitated--"it was all the money I had, but it wasn't
enough for him to go on with his studies."
Dunn looked at her sparkling eyes and glowing cheeks, and became
thoughtful. "Curson must have been a d--d fool," he said finally.
Teresa remained silent. She was beginning to be impatient and uneasy,
fearing some mischance that might delay her dreaded, yet longed-for
meeting with Low. Yet she could not leave this sick and exhausted man,
HIS FATHER, now bound to her by more than mere humanity.
"Couldn't you manage," she said gently, "to lean on me a few
steps further, until I could bring you to a cooler spot and nearer
assistance?"
He nodded. She lifted him almost like a child to his feet. A spasm of
pain passed over his face. "How far is it?" he asked.
"Not more than ten minutes," she replied.
"I can make a spurt for that time," he said coolly, and began to walk
slowly but steadily on. Only his face, which was white and set, and the
convulsive grip of his hand on her arm betrayed the effort. At the
end of ten minutes she stopped. They stood before the splintered,
lightning-scarred shaft in the opening of the woods, where Low had built
her first camp-fire. She carefully picked up the herbarium, but her
quick eye had already detected in the distance, before she had allowed
Dunn to enter the opening with her, that her note was gone. Low had been
there before them; he had been warned, as his absence from the cabin
showed; he would not return there. They were free from interruption--but
where had he gone?
The sick man drew a long breath of relief as she seated him in the
clover-grown hollow where she had slept the second night of her stay.
"It's cooler than those cursed woods," he said. "I suppose it's because
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