He threw to the winds the last scruple of conscience.

He flung back his head and set his teeth.
"Ride on--I follow!" he cried, in a strange, hoarse voice; "I follow unto the world's end!" So side by side the two men vanished into the deep gloom of the forest; and Captain Jack led his companion to one of those secret haunts of his own, where no pursuing foot had ever yet penetrated.
Tom drew a long breath as of relief, feeling that here at least he was safe.
And yet, when he sought to compose himself to rest after all the excitements of the past four-and-twenty hours, he found himself unable to sleep.

The face of his mother, loving, wistful, reproachful, seemed ever rising before him.

Was it not due to her that he should see her once again, even though he might be afterwards obliged to fly back to the forest?
Was there not a chance--just a chance--that his enemies might not follow him to his own home ?--might not even know where that home lay?
At least, might he not see whether he was followed before he abandoned the idea of seeing once more the mother and sister who loved him so well?
With the first light of dawn he woke up Captain Jack, and put the case to him; and the elder man sat cogitating deeply, as Tom moved about making ready the morning meal.
"Tom, lad," he said, "you are safer here; but I understand your feelings.

A man's first duty is to his mother if he have no wife.
And your mother is a good woman.