son. It was strange that Paul's mother had
sent for her. They were friends, but there had never been much intimacy
between them. Mrs. Ritson was a grave and earnest woman, a saintly soul,
and Greta's lightsome spirit had always felt rebuked in her presence.
Paul loved his mother, and she herself must needs love as well as
reverence the mother of Paul. It was Paul first and Paul last. Paul was
the center of her world. She was a woman, and love was her whole
existence.

Here in the lonnin she was in pitch darkness. She stumbled once into the
dike; then laughed and went on again. At one moment she thought she
heard a noise not far away. She stood and listened. No, it was nothing.
Only a hundred yards more! Bravely!

Then, by a swift rebound--she knew not why--her mind went back to the
events of the morning. She thought of Hugh Ritson and his mysterious
threat. What did he mean? What harm could he do them? Oh! that she had
been calmer, and asked. Her heart fluttered. It flashed upon her that
perhaps it was he and not his mother who had sent for her to-night. Her
pulse quickened.

At that instant the curlew shot over her head with its deep, mournful
cry. At the same moment she heard a step approaching her. It came on
quickly. She stopped. "Who is it?" she asked.

There was no answer. The sound of the footstep ceased.

"Who are you?" she called again.

Then with heavy thuds in the darkness and on the snow, some one
approached. She trembled from head to foot, but advanced a step and
stopped again. The footstep was passing her. She brought the light of
the lantern full on the retreating figure.

It was the figure of a man. Going by hastily, he turned his head over
his shoulder and she saw his face. It was the face of Paul, colorless,
agitated, with flashing eyes.

Every drop of Greta's blood stood still.

"Paul!" she cried, thrilled and immovable.

There was an instant of unconsciousness. The earth reeled beneath her.
When she came to herself she was standing alone in the lane, the lantern
half buried in the snow at her feet.

Had it been all a dream?

She was but twenty yards from the house. The door of the porch stood
open. Chilled with fear to the heart's core, she rushed in. No one was
in the hall. Not a sound, but the faint mutter of voices in the kitchen.

She ran through the passage and threw open the kitchen door. The farm
laborers were at supper, chatting, laughing, eating, smoking.

"Didn't you hear