as magnificent. Storm
had washed the atmosphere between earth and sky, and it seemed as
though the stars had descended nearer to his forests, shining in golden
constellations. The moon was coming up late, and he watched the ruddy
glow of it as it rode up over the wilderness, a splendid queen entering
upon a stage already prepared by the lesser satellites for her coming.
No longer was Kent oppressed or afraid. In still deeper inhalations he
drank the night air into his lungs, and in him there seemed to grow
slowly a new strength. His eyes and ears were wide open and attentive.
The town was asleep, but a few lights burned dimly here and there along
the river's edge, and occasionally a lazy sound came up to him--the
clink of a scow chain, the bark of a dog, the rooster crowing. In spite
of himself he smiled at that. Old Duperow's rooster was a foolish bird
and always crowed himself hoarse when the moon was bright. And in front
of him, not far away, were two white, lightning-shriven spruce stubs
standing like ghosts in the night. In one of these a pair of owls had
nested, and Kent listened to the queer, chuckling notes of their
honeymooning and the flutter of their wings as they darted out now and
then in play close to his window. And then suddenly he heard the sharp
snap of their beaks. An enemy was prowling near, and the owls were
giving warning. He thought he heard a step. In another moment or two
the step was unmistakable. Some one was approaching his window from the
end of the building. He leaned over the sill and found himself staring
into O'Connor's face.

"These confounded feet of mine!" grunted the staff-sergeant. "Were you
asleep, Kent?"

"Wide-awake as those owls," assured Kent.

O'Connor drew up to the window. "I saw your light and thought you were
awake," he said. "I wanted to make sure Cardigan wasn't with you. I
don't want him to know I am here. And--if you don't mind--will you turn
off the light? Kedsty is awake, too--as wide-awake as the owls."

Kent reached out a hand, and his room was in darkness except for the
glow of moon and stars. O'Connor's bulk at the window shut out a part
of this. His face was half in gloom.

"It's a crime to come to you like this, Kent," he said, keeping his big
voice down to a whisper. "But I had to. It's my last chance. And I know
there's something wrong. Kedsty is getting me out of the way--because I
was with him when he met the girl over in the poplar bush. I'm detailed