It seemed here as if he was about to lapse again into unconsciousness over the purely ludicrous aspect of the subject, but he haply recovered his seriousness.  “He’ll have as much money from me as he wants to go into business with.  What’s his line of business, Teresa?” asked this prospective father-in-law, in a large, liberal way.

“He is a botanist!” said Teresa, with a sudden childish animation that seemed to keep up the grim humor of the paternal suggestion; “and oh, he is too poor to buy books!  I sent for one or two for him myself, the other day—­” she hesitated—­“it was all the money I had, but it wasn’t enough for him to go on with his studies.”

Dunn looked at her sparkling eyes and glowing cheeks, and became thoughtful.  “Curson must have been a d—­d fool,” he said finally.

Teresa remained silent.  She was beginning to be impatient and uneasy, fearing some mischance that might delay her dreaded, yet longed-for meeting with Low.  Yet she could not leave this sick and exhausted man, his father, now bound to her by more than mere humanity.

“Couldn’t you manage,” she said gently, “to lean on me a few steps further, until I could bring you to a cooler spot and nearer assistance?”

He nodded.  She lifted him almost like a child to his feet.  A spasm of pain passed over his face.  “How far is it?” he asked.

“Not more than ten minutes,” she replied.

“I can make a spurt for that time,” he said coolly, and began to walk slowly but steadily on.  Only his face, which was white and set, and the convulsive grip of his hand on her arm betrayed the effort.  At the end of ten minutes she stopped.  They stood before the splintered, lightning-scarred shaft in the opening of the woods, where Low had built her first camp-fire.  She carefully picked up the herbarium, but her quick eye had already detected in the distance, before she had allowed Dunn to enter the opening with her, that her note was gone.  Low had been there before them; he had been warned, as his absence from the cabin showed; he would not return there.  They were free from interruption—­but where had he gone?

The sick man drew a long breath of relief as she seated him in the clover-grown hollow where she had slept the second night of her stay.  “It’s cooler than those cursed woods,” he said.  “I suppose it’s because it’s a little like a grave.  What are you going to do now?” he added, as she brought a cup of water and placed it at his side.

“I am going to leave you here for a little while,” she said cheerfully, but with a pale face and nervous hands.  “I’m going to leave you while I seek Low.”

The sick man raised his head.  “I’m good for a spurt, Teresa, like that I’ve just got through, but I don’t think I’m up to a family party.  Couldn’t you issue cards later on?”

“You don’t understand,” she said.  “I’m going to get Low to send some one of your friends to you here.  I don’t think he’ll begrudge leaving her a moment for that,” she added to herself bitterly.