ver. Come!"

Margaret commenced to sing in a soft minor. At first the chords were thin
and dry, but gradually they increased in sweetness and power. The
hopeless, distant look died from the singer's eyes; there was a flush on
her cheeks that rendered her years younger.

"Another one," she said, when the song was finished, "and yet another.
How wicked I have been to neglect this balm that God sent me all these
years. If you only knew what the sound of my own voice means to me!
Another one, Enid."

"Yes, yes," Enid whispered. "You are to sing till I return. You are
to leave Henson to imagine that I am singing. He will never guess.
Now then."

Enid crept away into the hall, closing the door softly behind her. She
made her way noiselessly from the house and across the lawn. As Henson
slipped through the open window into the garden Enid darted behind a
bush. Evidently Henson suspected nothing so far as she was concerned, for
she could see the red glow of the cigar between his lips. The faint
sweetness of distant music filled the air. So long as the song continued
Henson would relax his vigilance.

He was pacing down the garden in the direction of the drive. Did the man
know anything? Enid wondered. He had so diabolically cunning a brain. He
seemed to find out everything, and to read others before they had made up
their minds for themselves.

The cigar seemed to dance like a mocking sprite into the bushes. Usually
the man avoided those bushes. If Reginald Henson was afraid of one thing
it was of the dogs. And in return they hated him as he hated them.

Enid's mind was made up. If the sound of that distant voice should only
cease for a moment she was quite sure Henson would turn back. But he
could hear it, and she knew that she was safe. Enid slipped past him into
the bushes and gave a faint click of her lips. Something moved and
whined, and two dark objects bounded towards her. She caught them
together by their collars and cuffed them soundly. Then she led the way
back so as to get on Henson's tracks.

He was walking on ahead of her now, beating time softly to the music of
the faintly distant song with his cigar. Enid could distinctly see the
sweep of the red circle.

"Hold him, Dan," she whispered. "Watch, Prance; watch, boy."

There was a low growl as the hounds found the scent and dashed forward.
Henson came up all standing and sweating in every pore. It was not the
first time he had been held up by the dogs, a