Her mind swept back in a single flash through all the years she had lived, through her years of unhappiness and torment as the foster-girl of Jed Hawkins and his broken, beaten wife; through summers and winters that had seemed ages to her, eternities of desolation, of heartache, of loneliness, with the big wilderness her one friend on earth.  As the window rattled in a fresh blast of storm, she thought of the day months ago when she had accidentally stumbled upon the hiding-place of Roger McKay.  Since that day he had been her God, and she had lived in a paradise.  He had been father, mother, brother, and at last—­what she most yearned for—­a lover to her.  And this day, when for the first time he had held her in his arms, when the happiness of all the earth had reached out to them, God had put it into Jed Hawkins’ heart to destroy her—­and Jolly Roger had killed him!

With a sharp little cry she sprang to her feet, so suddenly that Peter fell with a thump to the floor.  He looked up at her, puzzled, his jaws half agape.  She was breathing quickly.  Her slender body was quivering.  Suddenly Peter saw the fire in her eyes and the flame that was rushing into her white cheeks.  Then she turned to him, and panted in a wild little whisper, so low that the Missioner could not hear: 

“Peter, I was wrong.  God wasn’t wicked to let Mister Roger kill Jed Hawkins.  He oughta been killed.  An’ God meant him to be killed.  Peter—­Peter—­we don’t care if he’s an outlaw!  We’re goin’ with him.  We’re goin’—­goin’—­”

She sprang to the window, and Peter was at her heels as she strained at it with all her strength, and he could hear her sobbing: 

“We’re goin’ with him, Peter.  We’re goin’—­if we die for it!”

An inch at a time she pried the window up.  The storm beat in.  A gust of wind blew out the light, but in the last flare of it Nada saw a knife in an Eskimo sheath hanging on the wall.  She groped for it, and clutched it in her hand as she climbed through the window and dropped to the soggy ground beneath.  In a single leap Peter followed her.  Blackness swallowed them as they turned toward the trail leading north—­the only trail which Jolly Roger could travel on a night like this.  They heard the voice of the Missioner calling from the window behind them.  Then a crash of thunder set the earth rolling under their feet, and the lull in the storm came to an end.  The sky split open with the vivid fire of lightning.  The trees wailed and whined, the rain fell again in a smothering deluge, and through it Nada ran, gripping the knife as her one defense against the demons of darkness—­and always close at her side ran Peter.