Hairpins were necessities of life with which Harry had not been able to provide me, and my hair, straight and black, hung to my knees. I sat, my chin on my hands, lost in meditation. I felt rather than saw Harry looking at me.

“You look like a witch, Anne,” he said at last, and there was something in his voice that had never been there before.

He reached out his hand and just touched my hair. I shivered. Suddenly he sprang up with an oath.

“You must leave here tomorrow, do you hear?” he cried. “I⁠—I can’t bear any more. I’m only a man after all. You must go, Anne. You must. You’re not a fool. You know yourself that this can’t go on.”

“I suppose not,” I said slowly. “But⁠—it’s been happy, hasn’t it?”

“Happy? It’s been hell!”

“As bad as that!”

“What do you torment me for? Why are you mocking at me? Why do you say that⁠—laughing into your hair?”

“I wasn’t laughing. And I’m not mocking. If you want me to go, I’ll go. But if you want me to stay⁠—I’ll stay.”

“Not that!” he cried vehemently. “Not that. Don’t tempt me, Anne. Do you realize what I am? A criminal twice over. A man hunted down. They know me here as Harry Parker⁠—they think I’ve been away on a trek up country, but any day they may put two and two together⁠—and then the blow will fall. You’re so young, Anne, and so beautiful⁠—with the kind of beauty that sends men mad. All the world’s before you⁠—love, life, everything. Mine’s behind me⁠—scorched, spoiled, with a taste of bitter ashes.”

“If you don’t want me⁠—”