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 of the carriage,—and then I knew that he had understood.

After that we were all very quiet. The wind blew and rattled the carriage curtains, the wheels lurched and slid, and the horses snorted and struggled through the greasy clay. Bob had not spoken for a long time; but with every flash of lightning I could catch a glimpse of his face, very white, and wet, and his jaw set hard.

"Are you frightened, Bess?" I said, after a while; for she was so quiet.

"No," she said, and her voice was perfectly natural.

"Then why don't you talk?"

"I—I have some thinking to do," she said.

I said "all right." To tell the truth, I was doing some pretty hard thinking, myself, and wasn't absolutely in need of conversation.

Presently, in the glare of a flash of lightning, I thought I saw something that made me lean forward and wait for another flash. When it came, I caught my breath. There was a long streak of blood across Bob's white cheek.

I waited a moment. I didn't want to frighten Bess. The next flash showed more blood which