him!"

Landless, standing with folded arms, looked at him with quiet scorn. "It
is the nature of the viper to use his venom," he said calmly. "Such a
thing cannot anger me."

"At the same time it is as well to crush the viper," said a voice at his
elbow.

The speaker, who was Sir Charles Carew, had come from behind the
boulders which ran in a straggling line down the hillside toward the
river. He had his drawn sword in his hand, and as he spoke, he ran the
mulatto through the body. The wretch, his oath of rage and astonishment
still upon his lips, fell to the ground without a groan, writhed there a
moment or two, and then lay still forever.

From the forest below rose a loud confusion of shouts and cries,
followed by a volley of musketry. At the sound the half dozen savages
upon the plateau turned and plunged down the hillside, to be met before
they reached the bottom by the upward rush of a portion of the rescuing
party. For a short while the twilight glades, low hills and frowning
crags rang to the sound of a miniature battle, to the quick crack of
muskets, the clear shouts of the whites, and the whoops of the savages.
But by degrees these latter became fainter, further between, died
away--a short ten minutes, and there were no warriors left to return to
the village in the Blue Mountains. Fierce shedders of blood, they were
paid in their own coin.

On the hilltop Sir Charles shot his rapier into its scabbard, and
strode over to Patricia, standing white and still against the rock. "I
was in time," he said. "Thank God!"

She made no motion to meet his extended hands, but stood looking past
him at Landless. Her face was like marble, her eyes one dumb question.
Landless met their gaze, and in his own she read despair, renunciation,
strong resolve--and a long farewell.

"You are come in time, Sir Charles Carew," he said. "A little more, and
we should have been beyond your reach. You will find the lady safe and
well, though shaken, as you see, by this last alarm. She will speak for
me, I trust, will tell you that I have used her with all respect, that I
have done for her all that I could do.... Madam, all danger is past.
Will you not collect yourself and speak to your kinsman and savior?"

He spoke with a certain calm stateliness of voice and manner, as of one
who has passed beyond all emotion, whether of hope or fear, and in his
eyes which he kept fixed upon her there was a command.

"Speak to me, my cousin; tel