The man shook his head.
"Not now," he said. "If he ain't ban your kid, Ay don' know whose
kid he do ban. Rokoff said it was yours. Ay tank he tank so, too.
"What do we do with it now? Ay can't go back to the Kincaid. Rokoff
would have me shot; but you can go back. Ay take you to the sea,
and then some of these black men they take you to the ship--eh?"
"No! no!" cried Jane. "Not for the world. I would rather die than
fall into the hands of that man again. No, let us go on and take
this poor little creature with us. If God is willing we shall be
saved in one way or another."
So they again took up their flight through the wilderness, taking
with them a half-dozen of the Mosulas to carry provisions and the
tents that Anderssen had smuggled aboard the small boat in preparation
for the attempted escape.
The days and nights of torture that the young woman suffered were
so merged into one long, unbroken nightmare of hideousness that
she soon lost all track of time. Whether they had been wandering
for days or years she could not tell. The one bright spot in
that eternity of fear and suffering was the little child whose tiny
hands had long since fastened their softly groping fingers firmly
about her heart.
In a way the little thing took the place and filled the aching
void that the theft of her own baby had left.
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