“It iss all right.” The Swedish accent in Oscar’s voice sounded very distinctly as it was apt to do when he was moved. “It was my fault as much as yours; I should have warned you that you would be tempted to do just such a thing. When I waited for you and you did not come—well, I am not so often frightened, but I was afraid then. It is no little thing to be lost in these woods. I wish—I wish—”
He did not finish his sentence, but Hugh knew that he was thinking of the Edmonds boys and of how the search for them was growing more hopeless every day. He, too, felt that despair was not far off, but he had a feeling that, if either of them spoke of it, the idea of failure would suddenly become a real thing instead of a dreaded possibility. He tried to turn the talk to another subject and spoke the first words that entered his mind. It was the most careless of questions, but it led to such unexpected consequences that he used to wonder, later, why the clock had not ceased ticking or the rising breeze stopped blowing to listen as he spoke.
