y's heart sank, she never doubted the purpose for which that boat
was brought into the bayou, or that it nearly concerned herself.

Half an hour later Mrs. Hicks appeared with their breakfast. It was
in vain that Betty attempted to engage her in conversation, either she
cherished some personal feeling of dislike for her prisoner, or else the
situation in which she herself was placed had little to recommend it,
even to her dull mind, and her dissatisfaction was expressed in her
attitude toward the girl.

Betty passed the long hours of morning in dreary speculation concerning
what was happening at Belle Plain. In the end she realized that the day
could go by and her absence occasion no alarm; Steve might reasonably
suppose George had driven her into Raleigh or to the Bowens' and that
she had kept the carriage. Finally all her hope centered on Judge Price.
He would expect Hannibal during the morning, perhaps when the boy did
not arrive he would be tempted to go out to Belle Plain to discover
the reason of his nonappearance. She wondered what theories would offer
themselves to his ingenious mind, for she sensed something of that
indomitable energy which in the face of rebuffs and laughter carried him
into the thick of every sensation.

At noon, Mrs. Hicks, as sullen as in the morning, brought them their
dinner. She had scarcely quitted the loft when a shrill whistle pierced
the silence that hung above the clearing. It was twice repeated, and the
two women were heard to go from the cabin. Perhaps half an hour elapsed,
then a step became audible on the packed earth of the dooryard; some
one entered the room below and began to ascend the narrow stairs, and
Betty's fingers closed convulsively about Hannibal's. This was neither
Mrs. Hicks nor her daughter, nor Slosson with his clumsy shuffle.
There was a brief pause when the landing was reached, but it was only
momentary; a hand lifted the bar, the door was thrown open, and its
space framed the figure of a man. It was John Murrell.

Standing there he regarded Betty in silence, but a deep-seated fire
glowed in his sunken eyes. The sense of possession was raging through
him, his temples throbbed, a fever stirred his blood. Love, such as it
was, he undoubtedly felt for her and even his giant project with all its
monstrous ramifications was lost sight of for the moment. She was the
inspiration for it all, the goal and reward toward which he struggled.

"Betty!" the single word f