or eyed his niece quizzically
over his spectacles. "You're quite a dangerous young person to meet on a
country road."

"Well, he called Blanche's hair 'carrots,'" said Marjory, flushing.

"Just like a boy. If he were a dozen years older he would be writing
sonnets to that same hair." And the doctor laughed.

Later on he said, "I heard from Mackenzie to-day that there is great
excitement in the neighbourhood about poachers. The men are going out
to-night to see if they can see anything of them. Mackenzie asked me to
join them, but I'm getting too old for that sort of thing. Mackenzie
isn't going himself, but I could see he was pretty keen about it. Of
course these fellows are a nuisance, and perhaps if I preserved I should
feel differently, but I must confess to a sneaking sympathy with them as
it is. Don't you tell Forester or Morison, Miss Marjory." And the doctor
laughed again.

But Marjory was thinking of the man in the wood What if he should be
suspected and taken? Somehow, although she had been suspicious of him,
there had been something in his manner, a true ring in his voice, which
belied her fears, and she felt that she would be sorry if he got into
any trouble. It was some hours since she had seen him, and he had
probably gone away by this time; but she felt uncomfortable about him,
and as soon as the doctor had finished his supper and gone to his study,
Marjory put on a cloak and slipped out.

It was a cold, frosty night, and there was no moon--just a night for
poaching work, Marjory decided. She had shut Silky in the house, in case
he might bark and attract attention, but once or twice she wished she
had brought him. She crept down the garden, and through the gate into
the wood, stopping now and then to listen. The night was intensely
still, and there were no signs of life; the silence was broken only by
the crunching of the frosty ground under her feet, until--listen!--what
was that? There was a sound as of some person or some animal in pain.
Oh, surely it was not some poor little rabbit or hare, or perhaps a dog,
caught in a trap! She must go nearer and see what it was. She walked on
in the direction whence the sounds proceeded, and there, lying on the
ground, was the figure of a man--the man she had spoken to that
afternoon. This was dreadful. Marjory had not known that a grown-up man
could cry; his whole frame was heaving with convulsive sobs, and he
murmured something she could not understand. She f