The woman rose and, as it seemed to Polly Brewster, moved
in humble submissiveness back to the shelter.
White consternation was stamped on the Unspeakable Perk's face as
he handed the revolver to its owner.
"Do you need me?" he asked quickly. "If not, I must go back at
once."
"I do not need you," said the girl, in level tones. "You lied to
me."
His expression changed. She read in it the desperation of guilt.
"I can explain," he said hurriedly, "but not now. There isn't
time. Wait here. I'll be back. I'll be back the instant I can get
away."
As he spoke, he was halfway down the rock, headed for the lower
trail. The bushes closed behind him.
Painfully Polly Brewster made her way down the treacherous footing
of the cliff path to her place on the rock. From her bag she drew
one of her cards, wrote slowly and carefully a few words, found a
dry stick, set it between two rocks, and pinned her message to it.
Then she ran, as helpless humans run from the scourge of their own
hearts.
Half an hour later the hermit, sweat-covered and breathless,
returned to the rock. For a moment he gazed about, bewildered by
the silence.
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