forgot the danger that threatened
Randolph Shaw.

The next morning, quite early, she was off for a canter. Some magnetic
force drew her toward that obliterated line in the roadway. Almost as
she came up to it and stopped, Randolph Shaw rode down the hillside
through the trees and drew rein directly opposite, the noses of their
horses almost touching. With a smile he gave the military salute even
as she gasped in self-conscious dismay.

"On duty, Miss Drake. No trespassing," he said. There was a glad ring
in his voice. "Please don't run away. You're on the safe side."

"I'm not going to run," she said, her cheek flushing. "How do you know
where the line is? It has been destroyed by the ravages of time."

"Yes. It has seemed a year. This thing of acting sentinel so
religiously is a bit wearing." His great, friendly dog came across the
line, however, and looked bravely up into the enemy's face, wagging
his tail. "Traitor! Come back, Bonaparte," cried his master.

"What a beautiful dog," she cried, sincere admiration in her eyes. "I
love a big dog. He is your best friend, I'll wager.'

"'Love me, love my dog,' is my motto."

The conversation was not prolonged. Penelope began to find herself on
rather friendly terms with the enemy. Confusion came over her when
she remembered that she was behaving in a most unmaidenly manner.
Doubtless that was why she brought the meeting to a close by galloping
away.

The ways of fortune are strange, look at them from any point of view.
Surprising as it may seem, a like encounter happened on the following
day and--aye, on the day after and every day for a week or more.
Occasions there were when Penelope was compelled to equivocate
shamefully in order to escape the companionship of the duke, the
count, or others of their ilk. Once, when the guardian of the road
was late at his post, she rode far into the enemy's country, actually
thrilled by the joy of adventure. When he appeared far down the road,
she turned and fled with all the sensations of a culprit. And he
thundered after her with vindictiveness that deserved better results.
Across the line she drew rein and faced him defiantly, her hair blown
awry, her cheeks red, her eyes sparkling.

"No trespass!" she cried, holding up her gloved hand. He stopped
short, for that was one of the terms of truce.

The next day he again was missing, but she was not to be caught by his
stratagem. Instead of venturing into the trap he had prepar