elt at a loss in the
presence of such bitter grief, and did not know what to do or what to
say. At last she took courage and said gently, "Can I do anything to
help you?"

The man sprang up, startled by Marjory's voice.

"Nothing can cure my trouble," he said bitterly. "But how come you out
here this cold, dark night? I can't see you, but I know by your voice
that you are the young lady I spoke to this afternoon."

"I came out to tell you that the keepers and some of the gentlemen are
out after poachers to-night, and I--I thought--" Marjory stammered.

"You thought I was one of them," finished the man, with a short laugh.
"No, I haven't come to that yet, but I thank you for your kind thought.
It's a long time since anybody troubled as to what would become of me."
And his tone was very bitter.

"But you must be hungry and cold. Won't you come and have some food?"

"No, and thank you kindly. I am lodging at Hillcrest village, a matter
of only two miles from here, and I'd best be getting back. But don't you
worry about me, miss. I'm a rough man, but, thank God, I've been able to
keep straight and honest. I'm in a tight place just now, but I'm sorry
you should have found me as you did."

"I was once very miserable here in this same place," said Marjory shyly,
"and then something happened which made my whole life different. Perhaps
it will be the same with you."

"I'm afraid not; but I mustn't keep you here in the cold. Thank you
kindly, miss, for what you've done for a stranger. May I ask you not to
mention having seen me here? I have a good reason."

Marjory could no longer feel suspicious of the man, but at the same time
she could not help wondering why he should wish to keep his movements
secret.

"Very well; I won't speak of it," she promised, wondering if she were
right in so doing.

"God bless you, miss, and good-night to you."

The man strode away. She could hear his footsteps crackling through the
undergrowth as she turned back towards home. Suddenly she was aware of
approaching steps; in a moment the wood seemed full of dark figures, and
she could hear men's heavy breathing. She started to run, but before she
could reach the gate strong arms caught hold of her, a lantern flashed
into her face, and the voice of Mr. Forester cried, "Hallo, Marjory!
what are you doing here?"

CHAPTER XII.

MARJORY KEEPS A SECRET.

"She doeth little kindnesses
Which most leave undone, or despise;
For