Explore "The Scales of Justice" by Fred M. White on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Ten minutes passed; a solitary pedestrian or two came along, then a waggoner whistling quite blithely to himself as he drove his team, and after him a little dark figure of a girl, whose black hair was hanging down her back. The fugitive could see her face from his shelter in the centre of the bushes--a little pinched face, lighted by a pair of dark, frightened eyes. Yet there was something good and true about the face, and the convict felt that he was being drawn by some instinct towards it.
The feeling grew upon him, so that he stepped out of the tree and confronted the girl. She gave a little gasping cry, that was instantly suppressed, then her hands went out in the direction of her companion.