ho heated dangerously
where another would have chilled under disdain; but she maintained an
unshaken voice, as she said: "You may as well know, however, that I am
amply protected. The night watchman is ordered to include this combined
office and residence of mine in every round he makes. So I sleep quite
unconcernedly. In the daytime, too, I shall have defense, if it becomes
necessary."

"O, have-a no alarm, Mees Warriner," and the man's facial expression
softened singularly as he gazed wistfully at the girl. "I haf said I
love-a you." Then, with a startlingly quick transition, he glared
menacingly off in the direction that Gerald Heath had gone. It seemed
curious to Mary, too, that in his rage his English was clearer than
usual, as he growled: "It is your lover that should be afraid of me." He
flung out one fist in a fierce menace, and added in Italian: "Nel
vindicarvi bisogna ch'egli mi rende la sua vita."

CHAPTER II.

The full moon looked for Mary Warriner's little house that night as soon
as a clearance of the sky permitted, and then beamed down on her abode
effulgently. But it was eleven o'clock before the gusty wind blew the
thick clouds aside and let the orb illumine Overlook. Back of the shed
in which the telegrapher worked by day was a structure in which she
slept at night. It was built of slabs, with big growing trees to form
its irregular corners, and their lowest limbs contributed the rafters,
while stripped bark and evergreen boughs made the roof. The foliage
swayed above in the fitful wind, and covered the cabin and the grass
around it with commingling, separating, capering shadows of leaves, as
though a multitude of little black demons were trying to get to the
slumberer within. Their antics looked spiteful and angry at first: but
as the wind lessened to a breeze, and as the moon seemed to mollify
them, they became frolicsome without malice; and at length, when the
merest zephyrs impelled their motions, they gambolled lazily,
good-humoredly above and around the couch of Mary Mite.

It was midnight when a man shot into the open space around the cabin
like a missile. He ran first to the front of the structure, where a
tarpaulin curtained the shed for the night, and gazed for a moment
blankly at this indication that the hour was not one of business.
Tremendous haste was denoted in his every step and gesture. He plucked
twice at the canvas, as though to pull it down. Then he skurried around
to t