I went back to the lake that
Pete did not know what to make of me. I returned later and saw you at
one of the camps telling stories to several children. You know what
happened after that."

"Indeed I do," the girl declared. "I can never forget that night, nor
how you saved me from Seth Lupin."

"Have you heard from the villain since?"

"Not since coming here. But so long as he is in this country I cannot
feel safe. I sometimes imagine he is prowling around here and will
appear at any minute."

"Umph, it won't be well for him if he does when I am here," and Dane's
hands clenched hard. "He won't get off as easily as he did that last
time. I thought he might follow you when you first arrived at this
place, so ordered Pete to be on the lookout. I hoped that you would
understand the meaning of that arrow in the big pine."

"I was certain that you had much to do with that," Jean replied. "For
a while I thought that you were near, and wondered why you did not come
to see me. But now I know that you were thinking of my welfare, and
longing to come."

"I was always thinking about you, Jean, and I have something here to
show how much you were in my mind."

Thrusting his right hand into the breast-pocket of his jacket, he
brought forth a little piece of wood. Removing a plug from one end, he
drew out a silver arrow-pin.

"This is a proof how much I was thinking of you. You little know how
eagerly I looked forward to the time when I would have the right to
present it to you."

"And did you really make this?" Jean asked, taking the arrow in her
hand and examining it most carefully. "I think it is wonderful."

"Yes, I made it myself," Dane replied, delighted at the girl's interest
and pleasure. "I worked it out of a silver coin my mother gave me
years ago, and which I valued most highly. For no one else would I
have done such a thing."

Dane's voice was a little husky as he spoke, and this Jean noticed.

"Your mother is dead, then?" she queried. She had often longed to ask
him about her, but owing to his reticence about his past life, she had
not done so. She had thought it strange, nevertheless, that he had
never mentioned his parents.

"My mother died five years ago," Dane explained. "Whatever I am I owe
to her. She was a noble woman."

"Is your father dead, too? Have you no home?"

"I have had no real home since my mother died," was the evasive reply.
"My home is wherever night overtakes me