curity.
I could meet any fate for myself, or for them, rather than sacrifice my
child to such a beast as Angus Anglesea! But--but--I cannot see Abel's
noble head bowed in grief and shame! I cannot! I cannot! So if the
Minotaur persists in demanding the maiden, she must be thrown to him.
There is no deliverance--no deliverance!"

CHAPTER VII

THE WOOD-WALK

The "Minotaur" did persist, you may be sure! A beautiful girl and a rich
inheritance were not to be given up by him for any scruples of conscience
or movements of pity.

He wooed Odalite in the face of her evident aversion, which soon grew to
detestation.

He followed her about, joined her in her walks, surprised her in her
solitude; he would take no hint from her avoidance, no offense at her
coldness, no rebuff from her rudeness; but would take her hand with such a
pressure, look at her with such a gaze, speak to her in such a tone as
would make the girl's blood run cold with a horrible abhorrence which she
could not comprehend.

This went on for a week before the affair came to a crisis.

She had stolen out of the house to avoid him. It was a splendid winter
day, and very mild for the season.

She resolved to take a long walk through the woods, even so far as
Chincapin Creek, a mile and a half away.

Calling the bulldog, Joshua, after her, she set out with a brisk step over
the frozen ground, dry with stubble and shining with frost, and through
the bare wood, still glittering with icicles, that were, however, fast
melting under the sun's rays.

When she reached Chincapin Creek she sat down on a large stone, over which
she had thrown an extra shawl, and she rested in the thought that there at
least she might remain for a little time without being disturbed either by
the intrusion of her "black beast" or by a summons to attend him.

But she was mistaken.

He, who had watched her every movement, and even by some devilish
inspiration seemed to know her every intention beforehand--he, lurking in
the shade of the curtain, and looking from his chamber window, had seen
her come out of the house, warmly dressed in her quaint walking suit of a
brown cloth winter cloak "all buttoned up before," and brown beaver poke
bonnet tied down under her chin, cross the lawn and pass out of the south
gate toward the woods beyond--followed by the faithful house dog.

He knew instinctively why she had left the house and where she was going.

He waited until she had