There were tracks of half a dozen men.
Garman's was among them. He had, apparently, been helped to his feet
and led away.
As the last rays of the setting sun were gilding the palm tops Roger
pushed aside a curtain of moon vine and looked out upon Garman's house
and the little lake beyond. To his surprise the Egret lay at the dock,
the captain on the bridge, ready to start downstream. Higgins, Davis
and Willy High Pockets were standing near the pergola looking toward
the house. Presently they turned and walked slowly out of sight and
hearing.
Garman came tottering out of the house onto the walk leading to the
dock. He was freshly clad and extensively bandaged. Beside him walked
Annette, supporting him with the strength of her tall young body.
Garman was broken physically, but his spirit remained strong.
Suddenly he halted, painfully freeing his arm from her supporting hand.
"No," he mumbled through his bandages, "I can't let you do that."
"But I want to help you to the boat," she protested. "You're very
weak, you know."
Garman tottered, yet he gestured her away. He spoke slowly, each word
an effort.
"Might it occur to you that even in my present condition I might be
capable of feeling a sense of humiliation at being helped away--by you?"
"I wouldn't want you to feel that," she replied.
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