He had not spoken to her, nor she to him.

His eyes rested on the singed ends of her blown hair, her charred garments, in a frowning sympathy which found no speech.

At length he brought the reins of his horse to her, flirting up the singed ends of the long mane, further proof of their narrow escape.
"I must try once more," he said.

"The main fire might catch the wagon." He made off afoot.

She saw him start a dozen nucleuses of fires; saw them advance till they halted at the edge of the burned ground, beyond the wagon, so that it stood safe in a vast black island.