wed by a fawn-colored collie. She walked smoothly and swiftly,
carrying a large basket with her right hand, while with her left she
motioned him away from the window. He stepped back, leaping to the door as
she unlocked it, in order to relieve her of her burden.

"You mustn't do that," she said, speaking quickly. "You mustn't look out
of the window or come to the door. There are a hundred men beating the
mountain to find you."

She closed the door and locked it on the inside. While Ford lifted her
basket to the desk in the centre of the room she drew the green curtain
hastily, covering the window. Her movements were so rapid that he could
catch no glimpse of her face, though he had time to note again the curious
silence that marked her acts. The dog emitted a low growl.

"You must go in here," she said, decisively, throwing open the door of the
inner room. "You mustn't speak or look out unless I tell you. I'll bring
you your breakfast presently. Lie down, Micmac."

The gesture by which she forced him across the threshold was compelling
rather than commanding. Before he realized that he had obeyed her, he was
standing alone in the darkness, with the sound of a low voice of liquid
quality echoing in his ears. Of her face he had got only the hint of dark
eyes flashing with an eager, non-Caucasian brightness--eyes that drew
their fire from a source alien to that of any Aryan race.

But he brushed that impression away as foolish. Her words had the
unmistakable note of cultivation, while a glance at her person showed her
to be a lady. He could see, too, that her dress, though simple, was
according to the standard of means and fashion. She was no Pocahontas;
and yet the thought of Pocahontas came to him. Certainly there was in her
tones, as well as in her movements, something akin to this vast aboriginal
nature around him, out of which she seemed to spring as the human element
in its beauty.

He was still thinking of this when the door opened and she came in again,
carrying a plate piled high with cold meat and bread-and-butter.

"I'm sorry it's only this," she smiled, as she placed it before him; "but
I had to take what I could get--and what wouldn't be missed. I'll try to
do better in future."

He noted the matter-of-fact tone in which she uttered the concluding
words, as though they were to have plenty of time together; but for the
moment he was too fiercely hungry to speak. For a few seconds she stood
off, watching