He knew his argument had failed and that
Mary Standish would not go; yet she did not answer him, nor did her lips
move in the effort.
"Go--for _their_ sakes, if not for your own and mine," he insisted,
holding her away from him. "Good God, think what it will mean if beasts
like those out there get hold of Keok and Nawadlook! Graham is your
husband and will protect you for himself, but for them there will
be no hope, no salvation, nothing but a fate more terrible than
death. They will be like--like two beautiful lambs thrown among
wolves--broken--destroyed--"
Her eyes were burning with horror. Keok was sobbing, and a moan which
she bravely tried to smother in her breast came from Nawadlook.
"And _you!_" whispered Mary.
"I must remain here. It is the only way."
Dumbly she allowed him to lead her back with Keok and Nawadlook. Keok
went through the opening first, then Nawadlook, and Mary Standish last.
She did not touch him again. She made no movement toward him and said no
word, and all he remembered of her when she was gone in the gloom was
her eyes. In that last look she had given him her soul, and no whisper,
no farewell caress came with it.
"Go cautiously until you are out of the ravine, then hurry toward the
mountains," were his last words.
He saw their forms fade into dim shadows, and the gray mist swallowed
them.
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