But before they set off again he kissed her, not one of the long ardent kisses that made her dizzy and frightened even as they exalted her, but a shy, sweet touching of his lips to her forehead. It was as if he were telling her, wordlessly, that she would be utterly safe with him through the long, dark hours ahead of them.
They did not talk much as they walked steadily along the dirt roads, choosing them in preference to the frequented paved highway, for David cautioned her to save her breath for the all-important task of covering many miles before daybreak. Neither of them had any idea of the geography of this state to which the carnival had brought them, but they felt that it mattered little. David, country-bred, had an instinct for direction. He had chosen to turn toward the east, and Sally trotted along by his side, supremely confident that he would lead her out of danger.
"One o'clock, darling," he announced at last, when Sally was so tired that she could hardly put one foot before the other. "We'll rest awhile and then plod along. There's a farmhouse near. See the cows lined up by the fence? We'll find a well and have a drink."
A three-quarters moon rode high in the sky but its light was intermittently obscured by ragged, scuddling clouds. When they had had their drink of ice-cold cistern water David made a pillow of his coat which he had been carrying over his arm, and forced Sally to lie down for awhile in the soft loam of a recently ploughed field.
He sat at a little distance from her, not touching her, his knees drawn up and clasped by his strong, tanned hands, but his head was thrown back and his eyes brooded upon the cloud-disturbed beauty of the night sky.
"Does your shoulder hurt, darling?" Sally asked anxiously.
"No," he answered, without looking at her. "It's all healed. Just a flesh wound, you know."
The tone of his voice silenced her. She knew he was brooding over their future, puzzling his young head as to what he was to do with her, and she lay very still, humble before his masculinity.
"I've been thinking, Sally," he said at last, gently. "First, we'll get married in the morning, or as soon as we find a county seat, and then--"
"But David." Sally sat up, her heart pounding with joy but her mind unexpectedly clear and logical, "we mustn't, darling. You've got to finish college, somehow, somewhere--I can't bear to be a burden upon you! You're so young, so young!"