But she turned to Low with feverish anxiety.
"That's so--he is an old friend--" she gave a quick, imploring glance at Curson--"an old friend who came to help me away--he is very kind," she stammered, turning alternately from the one to the other; "but I told him there was no hurry--at least to-day--that you--were--very good--too, and would hide me a little longer, until your plan--you know YOUR plan," she added, with a look of beseeching significance to Low--"could be tried." And then, with a helpless conviction that her excuses, motives, and emotions were equally and perfectly transparent to both men, she stopped in a tremble.
"Perhapth it 'th jutht ath well, then, that the gentleman came thtraight here, and didn't tackle my two friendth when he pathed them," observed Curson, half sarcastically.
"I have not passed your friends, nor have I been near them," said Low, looking at him for the first time, with the same exasperating calm, "or perhaps I should not be HERE or they THERE.

I knew that one man entered the wood a few moments ago, and that two men and four horses remained outside." "That's true," said Teresa to Curson excitedly--"that's true.

He knows all.

He can see without looking, hear without listening.

He--he--" she stammered, colored, and stopped.
The two men had faced each other.