st her. The instinct of the hunter joined to
the obstinacy of his nature maddened him at the notion of McVay's
escape. On the opposite side of the house there was a piazza and on the
roof of this a neighbouring window opened. He threw it back and climbed
out.

The snow had stopped, and the moon was shining, paling a little before
the approaching dawn. Geoffrey could see a figure stealing quickly
across the snow. There was no question of its identity. His revolver,
which he had snatched from under his pillow and brought with him, he at
once levelled on the vanishing form; his finger was on the trigger, when
he felt a hand on his arm.

Leaning out of the window behind him the girl caught his arm. "Don't
fire," she said. "Don't you see it is Billy?"

There was a pause--the fraction of a second, but momentous, for Geoffrey
realised that all his threats to McVay had been idle, that with that
touch on his arm he could not shoot.

Nevertheless he raised his voice and shouted thunderously: "McVay!"

The figure turned, hesitated, saw, perhaps, the gleam of the moon on
steel and began to retrace his steps.

Steadily with the revolver still upon him he moved back to the house.
Under the piazza he stopped and waved his hand.

"I'm afraid they got away from us, Holland. I did my best."

"There _was_ a burglar then!" said the girl in the little whisper of
recent fright.

"By Heaven, he shall not trouble you," returned Holland with more
earnestness than seemed to be required. Then he left her and went down
to meet McVay.

"You were just about half a second ahead of a bullet," he remarked,
ushering him into the hall. To be caught and brought back is so
ignominious a position that Geoffrey looked to see even McVay at a
disadvantage, but looked in vain. The aspect worn was a particularly
self-satisfied one.

"I was aware I took a risk," he answered; "I took it gladly for my
sister's sake."

"For your sister's sake?"

"Yes, and yours. Be honest, Holland, what could be so great a relief to
you as to find I had disappeared. You are too narrow-minded, too
honourable, you would say, to connive at it, but you would be delighted
to know that you need not prosecute me."

"If I shot you, I should be saved the trouble of prosecuting."

"But at what a cost! I refer to my sister's regard. No, no, the thing,
if you had only been quick enough to see it, was for me to escape. It
was a risk, of course, but a risk I gladly took for my