ey further.
He had merely come to make himself sure that his prisoner was secure.
He would not stay long.

As she stole around away from the path and the pony she saw a little
stream of light shoot out through a chink between the logs of the hut.
Gadbeau had made a light. Probably he had brought something for
Jeffrey to eat. She pulled off the white collar of her jacket, the
only white thing that showed about her and settled down for a long
wait.

First she had thought that she ought to steal away to her horse and
ride for help. But she could not bear the thought of even getting
beyond the sound of Jeffrey's voice. She knew where he was now. He
might be taken away while she was gone. And, besides, Ruth Lansing had
always learned to do things for herself. She had always disliked
appealing for help.

Hour after hour she sat in the darkest place she could find, leaning
against the bole of a great tree. The light, candles, of course,
burned on; and the voices came irregularly through the living silence
of the woods. She did not dare to creep nearer to hear what was being
said. That did not matter. The important thing was to have Gadbeau go
away without any suspicion that he had been followed. Then she would
be free to release Jeffrey. She had no fear but that she would be able
to get him down to French Village in the morning. She could easily
have him there before nine o'clock.

When she saw by the stars that it was long past midnight she began to
be worried. Just then the light went out. Ah! The man was going away
at last! She waited a long, nervous half hour. But there was no sound.
She dared not move, for even when she shifted her position against
the tree the oppressive silence seemed to crackle with her motion.

Would he never come out? It seemed not. Was he going to stay there all
night?

Noiseless as a cat, she rose and crept to the door of the cabin.
Apparently both men were asleep within. She pushed the door ever so
quietly. It was firmly barred on the inside.

What could she do? Nothing, absolutely nothing! Oh, why, _why_ had she
not brought a rifle? She would shoot. She _would_, if she had it now,
and that man opened the door! It was too late now to think of riding
for help, too late!

She sank down again beside her tree and raged helplessly at herself,
at her conceit in herself that would not let her go for help in the
first place, at her foolishness in coming on this business without a
gun. The hour