ers, who were hastening to the
assistance of the King's men. There was, accordingly, no time to lose.
They must strike at once, and then vanish into the depths of the forest.

Thomas Norman was well aware of this proposed attack upon the
mast-cutters. Although he did not oppose it, he took little interest
in the matter. In fact, he had very little ambition for anything. He
was feeling somewhat weary during the fall, and the silence of his
house was more depressing than ever. During the lonely days, and still
more lonely nights, he thought much about the past. He knew that he
had made a failure of life, and that he had nothing to live for now.
At times he would endeavor to fan the coals of rebellion by reading
"King Lear," "Timon of Athens," and the story of Old Aeneas. But the
effect was never lasting, and when the artificial stimulation subsided
he was more depressed than ever.

Such was his mood the day he rushed forth from the unbearable
loneliness of his house and encountered the moose. The accident, and
the meeting with the girl had aroused him for a while, and his old-time
spirit of rebellion flared up in his passionate outburst against the
King and the Loyalists. But it was only temporary, and when he learned
that the girl was James Sterling's daughter, he was forced to
capitulate. He made a few spasmodic efforts after that, but the
gentleness of the girl, together with the fact that she knew and loved
Dane, swept everything else away.

His great concern now was about the rebels. They could march against
the mast-cutters if they wished, but he did not want them to see Jean.
He knew what they were like, and when their coarse brutal natures
became inflamed through liquor, there was no telling what they might
do. For this reason he had urged Dave to turn them aside, and induce
them to march straight overland. Of the success of this plan he had
little hope, as the slashers knew of the rum he kept on hand, and for
that they would come, if for nothing else.

So that night as he lay there watching Jean as she sat before the fire,
he listened intently, expecting every minute to hear the voices and
steps of the undesired rebels. Bitterly now he regretted his action in
the past, and almost cursed himself for his blind folly. Several times
he was on the point of warning Jean of her danger. But how could he
tell her, and what good would it do? There was no place where she
could go for protection, and he