She, too, had leaned forward, her face
lifted up to his, her eyes seeking to make sure who this man was.
"Buck Thornton?" she whispered back.
"Yes. What is it?"
"Here. Quick!" She had thrust a folded paper into his fingers, closing
them tightly upon it. "Now, go! Do what I tell you in it. Henry Pollard
suspects something; he is looking for me. Go quickly!"
She was already passing him, hastening toward the steps and the front
door.
"Wait!" he commanded, his hand hard upon her arm. "I don't
understand...."
"For God's sake let me go!" Only a whisper, but he thought he heard a
quiver of terror in it, he knew that her arm was trembling violently.
"He'd kill me. ... Oh, my God, go!"
"If there is danger for you..."
"There is none if you go now ... if he doesn't find me here. Please,
Buck...."
She jerked away from him and went swiftly to the steps. He could hear
her every step now so plainly his heart stood still with fear that
Pollard must hear, too. He heard her go to the door; she passed on, and
so became one with the blot of darkness within the house. Then he drew
back, slowly, half regretfully, back toward the gate, stopping for a
last time under the trees there. And after a very long time he heard
Pollard's steps again.
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