Two days later, on Friday evening, Teola slipped quietly from her home, and the Skinner hut opened to her timid knock. Tess had no more fear when visitors came. Ben Letts had gone with Myra, and Ezra Longman was dead.

The girls eyed each other for one embarrassed moment. The day for separation was at hand: Tess would face the lean winter, Teola the burden of a conscience in torment.

"Come in," muttered Tess.

"Tessibel," Teola burst out spontaneously, "we are going away to-morrow. I wish I were going to stay with you and the baby!"

Gloomily Tess scrutinized the young mother, checking an ejaculation that rose to her lips.

"I don't understand what you are going to do," said Teola. "Tess, do you think he is very ill? You do! I can see it in your face. Look how he yawns, and screws his mouth, and shuts his eyes! Oh, he is suffering, Tessibel!"

"Yep, he air sick," replied Tess, turning her back. She had grown to love the hapless thing, and knew that he suffered as all human beings suffer when they go slowly away to the mystery of mysteries.

Teola's next words brought her about sharply.

"Tessibel, do you--hate me?"

"Nope."

"Oh, what a coward I am! Frederick has forbidden me to come here."

"That air 'cause he air a good bloke," snorted Tess. "But if he knowed--"