"Pardon me, but have you much farther to go? The storm will soon be
upon us, and--surely you will not consider me presumptuous--I don't
like the idea of your being caught out in--"
"What is to be done about it?" she inquired, resignedly. "I must go
on. I can't wait here, you know, to be washed back to the place I
started from."
He smiled. She had wit as well as determination. There was the
suggestion of mirth in her voice--and certainly it was a most
pleasing, agreeable voice.
"If I can be of the least assistance to you, pray don't hesitate to
command me. I am a sort of tramp, you might say, and I travel as well
by night as I do by day,--so don't feel that you are putting me to any
inconvenience. Are you by any chance bound for Hart's Tavern? If so, I
will be glad to lag behind and carry your bag."
"You are very good, but I am not bound for Hart's Tavern, wherever
that may be. Thank you, just the same. You appear to be an uncommonly
genteel tramp, and it isn't because I am afraid you might make off
with my belongings." She added the last by way of apology.
He smiled--and then frowned as he cast an uneasy look at the black
clouds now rolling ominously up over the mountain ridge.
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