He looked forlorn and dejected; but as Blake moved forward, he roused himself, and his eyes had an angry gleam.
"So you have overtaken me! I thought myself safe from you!" he exclaimed.
"You were wrong," Blake replied quietly.

"If it had been needful, I'd have gone after you to Clarke's.

But I'm hungry, and I'll cook my supper at your fire." He glanced at the provisions scattered about.
"You haven't had much of a meal." "It's a long drink I want," Benson growled.
Blake let this pass.

He prepared his supper, and offered Benson a portion.
"Try some of that," he urged, indicating the light flapjacks fizzling among the pork in the frying-pan.

"It strikes me as a good deal more tempting than the stuff you have been eating." Benson thrust the food aside, and Blake ate in silence.