Climbing steadily upwards on a long slant which would bring me into the cavernous rocks of the Farrow, I harkened for the noise of pursuit. No sound followed me. I was safe at last. Yet now that I had reached my goal I was afraid. The wood was filled with lurking dangers, each tree made a convenient ambuscade. I dared not halt to attend to my wound but pressed on as if the route was yelling at my heels. I was running like a fool by the time I came to the head of the wood.

I crept into a rocky cavern from whose shelter I could survey the land. It was deserted and so quiet I could scarcely believe that those wild voices which followed me had ever existence outside a dream. It was bitterly cold. When I had eaten some more oatcakes and made a pad for my wound with my shirt I lay down on the earth to wait for night. Cold and pain and hunger come at length to be their own anodyne. I thought drowsily of our cave, warmly lit, of Terry waiting until I came.

At night’s approach I left my hiding-hole. I was dead-tired and every limb ached so that it was torture to move and drag my leaden feet over the Farrow, through fresh snow. I made a circuit by the Durc and the head of the Sluie burn in case my enemies were still loitering by the lower course of the stream. Night had fallen before I neared the cave. My tiredness left me as I came to our gorge. I ran up the steep slope saying, ‘Terry! Terry!’ Terry!’ over and over again under my breath, not loud, for fear I warned a lurking foe and startled her. I felt for the entrance to the cave with my hand. I rested a moment, leaning against the rock, while I drew a great breath of gladness to be home. I whispered, ‘Terry! Terry! are you there? It’s Hugh!’

No answer came. I noticed how dark and still the cave was. I thought, ‘She’s gone to bed. She’s sleeping.’ I was angry because she had fallen asleep, forgetting me. I said, ‘I wouldn’t have fallen asleep waiting for you, Terry.’ I cried, ‘Terry! are you sleeping?’ No voice replied. I groped my way into the cave until I reached the hammock. It was slung close to the wall. I cried, ‘Terry!’ and then in a louder voice I shouted her name, bidding her speak to me. My loud breath beat on the walls of rock whose echoing voice flung back her name and the night resounded with a mockery of my fear. I stumbled to the fireplace to plunge my hand in the ashes of the fire. I waited for the exquisite pain of burning to abate my dread. The ashes were cold.