d, unusual dread weighted her heart -- something in emotions that
she never before had experienced in time of danger. In it there was the
deathly unease of premonition. But of what it was born she did not
understand, -- perhaps of the strain of dangers passed -- of the shock
of discovery concerning Smith's identity with Darragh -- Darragh! -- the
hated kinsman of Harrod the abhorred.

Fiercely she wondered how much her lover knew about this miserable
masquerade. Was Stormont involved in this deception -- Stormont, the
object of her first girl's passion -- Stormont, for whom she would have
died?

Wretched, perplexed, fiercely enraged at Darragh, deadly anxious
concerning Clinch, she had gone about cooking supper.

The supper, kept warm on the range, still awaited the man who had no
more need of meat and drink.

* * * * *

Of the tragedy of Sard Eve knew nothing. There was no traces save the
disorder in the pantry and the bottles and chair on the veranda.

Who had visited the place excepting those from whom she and Stormont had
fled, did not appear. She had no idea why her step-father's mattress
and bed-quilt lay in the pantry.

Her heart heavy with ceaseless anxiety, Eve carried mattress and
bed-clothes to Clinch's chamber, re-made his bed, wandered through the
house setting it in order; then, in the kitchen, seated herself and
waited until the strange dread that possessed her drove her out into the
starlight to stand and listen and stare at the dark forest where all her
dread seemed concentrated.

* * * * *

It was not yet dawn, but the girl could not endure the strain no longer.

With electric torch and rifle she started for the forest, almost running
at first; then, among the first trees, moving with caution and in
silence along the trail over which Clinch should long since have
journeyed homeward.

In soft places, when she ventured to flash her torch, footprints cast
curious shadows, and it was hard to make out tracks so oddly distorted
by the light. Prints mingled and partly obliterated other prints. She
identified her own tracks leading south, and guessed at the others,
pointing north and south, where they had carried in the wounded and had
gone back to bring in the dead.

But nowhere could she discover any impression resembling her
step-father's, -- that great, firm stride and solid imprint which so
often she had tracked through moss and swale and which she knew so well.

Once when she got