The girl's name was Bridget Royce, a somber and even sullen type of
beauty, and she looked at him darkly, as if in doubt, and said, "Do
you want me to hide you?" Upon which he only laughed, leaped lightly
over the stone wall, and strode toward the farm, merely throwing
over his shoulder the remark, "Thank you, I have generally been
quite capable of hiding myself." In which proceeding he acted with a
tragic ignorance of the nature of women; and there fell on his path
in that sunshine a shadow of doom.
While he disappeared through the farmhouse the girl remained for a
few moments looking up the road, and two perspiring policemen came
plowing up to the door where she stood. Though still angry, she was
still silent, and a quarter of an hour later the officers had
searched the house and were already inspecting the kitchen garden
and cornfield behind it. In the ugly reaction of her mood she might
have been tempted even to point out the fugitive, but for a small
difficulty that she had no more notion than the policemen had of
where he could possibly have gone. The kitchen garden was inclosed
by a very low wall, and the cornfield beyond lay aslant like a
square patch on a great green hill on which he could still have been
seen even as a dot in the distance.
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