y to be heard.

"Craik Mansell," said she, in a strained tone, that was not without its
severity, "you sent for me, and I am here."

Ah, this was her mode of greeting, was it? Mr. Byrd felt his breath come
easier, and listened for the reply with intensest interest.

But it did not come. The low rumbling of the thunder went on, and the
wind howled through the gruesome forest, but the man she had addressed
did not speak.

"Craik!" Her voice still came from the door-way, where she had seemingly
taken her stand. "Do you not hear me?"

A stifled groan was the sole reply.

She appeared to take one step forward, but no more.

"I can understand," said she, and Mr. Byrd had no difficulty in hearing
her words, though the turmoil overhead was almost deafening, "why the
restlessness of despair should drive you into seeking this interview. I
have longed to see you too, if only to tell you that I wish heaven's
thunderbolts had fallen upon us both on that day when we sat and talked
of our future prospects and----"

A lurid flash cut short her words. Strange and awesome sounds awoke in
the air above, and the next moment a great branch fell crashing down
upon the roof of the hut, beating in one corner, and sliding thence
heavily to the ground, where it lay with all its quivering leaves
uppermost, not two feet from the door-way where this woman stood.

A shriek like that of a lost spirit went up from her lips.

"I thought the vengeance of heaven had fallen!" she gasped. And for a
moment not a sound was heard within or without the hut, save that low
flutter of the disturbed leaves. "It is not to be," she then whispered,
with a return of her old calmness, that was worse than any shriek.
"Murder is not to be avenged thus." Then, shortly: "A dark and hideous
line of blood is drawn between you and me, Craik Mansell. _I_ cannot
pass it, and you must not, forever and forever and forever. But that
does not hinder me from wishing to help you, and so I ask, in all
sincerity, What is it you want me to do for you to-day?"

A response came this time.

"Show me how to escape the consequences of my act," were his words,
uttered in a low and muffled voice.

She did not answer at once.

"Are you threatened?" she inquired at last, in a tone that proved she
had drawn one step nearer to the bowed form and hidden face of the
person she addressed.

"My conscience threatens me," was the almost stifled reply.

Again that heavy silence, all t