of the eyelids.

Von Rittenheim saw nothing but his own regret at his necessarily meagre
hospitality, for which he tried to make amends by being increasingly
agreeable.

"You will like to see my little affair?" he asked, after describing the
primitive manufacture of his still.

"Ah'm afraid Ah must be going on; Ah'm obliged to get to Asheville
to-night. But if you'd sell me a quart of yo' whisky to keep me warm on
the way, Ah'd like it."

He opened the door and looked out.

"It's right smart cold," he added.

Friedrich made no reply. He had checked his first impulse, which was to
offer to give the fellow all the whisky he wanted, and he looked with a
sort of fascination at the coin which the other drew from his pocket
and tossed on to the table. Undoubtedly he was hungrier than ever he
had been in his life, and not only had he seen his supper devoured
before his eyes, but there would be nothing to eat in the morning
before his long walk to town. With this money he could buy something at
the store which he must pass on his way.

His recent conversation with Dr. Morgan went through his mind. He
glanced at his guest, who was buttoning his coat and tightening a spur
preparatory to starting.

"I think he will not tell," thought von Rittenheim, and he found an
empty bottle and filled it from the jug. Then he helped the stranger
with his horse, and after his departure returned to look ruefully into
the fire.

"Never before," he mused, "did one of my race commit so petty a wrong."

II

The Snare of the Fowler

It was at the early hour when the morning brings to the earth no warmth
and but a dim and grudging light, that a sharp rap summoned von
Rittenheim to his cabin door. Three men stood outside in the grayness,
their horses tied to trees behind them. To his surprise, Friedrich
recognized his guest of the previous evening.

"_Ach_, my good friend, you did not reach Asheville last night?"

Unconsciously he frowned as he realized that if these men wanted
breakfast he would have to confess that there was nothing to eat in the
house. At the thought his instinct of hospitality and his pride both
suffered.

"Yes, Ah got to Asheville, and Ah've come back--fo' you."

The man entered the cabin and motioned to his companions, who stepped
one to each side of the Baron.

"What do you mean?" Von Rittenheim spoke with amazement born of entire
lack of understanding. His mind could not compass the treachery of