observations of her
companions became visibly less marked. One by one the voices also seemed
to sink, and it was evidently a relief to the listeners when a girl rose
and closed the piano. Somebody made an effort to secure attention to a
witty story, and there was general laughter, but it also ceased, and an
impressive silence followed. Out of it came the jingle of bridles and
trampling of hoofs, as the men outside pulled up, followed by voices in
the hall, and once more Allonby went out.

"They're right under this window," said his nephew. "Slip quietly behind
the curtains, and I think you can see them."

Flora Schuyler drew the tapestry back, the rest followed her and
Christopher Allonby flung it behind them, so that it shut out the light.
In a moment or two their eyes had become accustomed to the change, and
they saw a little group of mounted men close beneath. Two of them
dismounted, and appeared to be speaking to some one at the door, but the
rest sat with their rifles across their saddles and a prisoner in front of
them. His hat was crushed and battered, his jacket rent, and Flora
Schuyler fancied there was a red trickle down his cheek; but his face was
turned partly away from the window, and he sat very still, apparently with
his arms bound loosely at the wrists.

"All these to make sure of one man, and they have tied his hands!" she
said.

Hetty noticed the ring in her companion's voice, and Allonby made a little
deprecatory gesture.

"It's quite evident they had too much trouble getting him to take any
chances of losing him," he said. "I wish the fellow would turn his head. I
fancy I should know him."

A tremor ran through Hetty for she also felt she recognized that tattered
figure. Then one of the horsemen seized the captive's bridle, and the man
made a slight indignant gesture as the jerk flung off his hands. Flora
Schuyler closed her fingers tight.

"If I were a man I should go down and talk quite straight to them," she
said.

The prisoner was sitting stiffly now, but he swayed in the saddle when one
of the cattle-men struck his horse and it plunged. He turned his head as
he did so, and the moonlight shone into his face. It was very white, and
there was a red smear on his forehead. Hetty gasped, and Flora Schuyler
felt her fingers close almost cruelly upon her arm.

"It's Larry!" she said.

Christopher Allonby nodded. "Yes, we have him at last," he said. "Of
course, one feels sorry; but he broug