where she knew he was to pass
the night. It was in darkness. Yes, he was a-bed, she told herself.
Then she smiled. An idea had flashed through her mind. Should she walk
over to the hut, and--and listen at the open window for the sound of
his breathing?

Her smile brought with it a blush of modesty, and the idea passed.
Then with its going her eyes turned away, and, suddenly, they became
fixed upon the indistinct outline of the gate in the fencing of her
vegetable patch. She could just make out the figure of a man standing
on the far side of it. For the moment the joyous thought that it was
Will came to her. Then she negatived the idea. The outline was too
large. She thought for a moment, and then, in a low voice, called the
man by name.

"Peter? That you?"

The gate opened, and the man's heavy tread came up the narrow path.

"Yes," he said, as he came. "I was just passing, and I thought I saw
you in the doorway." He had reached the house, and with Eve standing
on the door-sill, his rugged face was on a level with hers. "You're
kind of late up, Eve," he went on doubtfully. "That's what made me
stop. There's nothing amiss with--Elia?" he asked, shrewdly.

It was by no means a haphazard question. He knew what the lad had been
through that night. He knew, too, the boy's peculiar nervous
temperament and its possibilities.

"What makes you ask?" Eve retorted sharply. She knew something must
have happened to the boy, and was wondering if Peter knew what it
was. "Why should Elia be ill?"

Peter scratched his rough, gray head. His mild, blue eyes twinkled
gently in the lamplight from within the house.

"Well, seeing you were up---- But there, I'm glad it's nothing. I'll
pass on." Then he added: "You see, when a pretty girl gets standing in
the doorway late at night--and such a lovely summer night--and she's
just--just engaged, I don't guess she wants the company of six foot
three of a misspent life. Good-night, Eve, my dear. My best
congratulations."

But the girl wanted him. Now he was here she wanted to talk to him
particularly.

"Don't go, Peter," she said. "Something is the matter with Elia. He is
ill--very ill. He's had the worst fit I've ever known him to have,
and--and I don't know if he's going to pull round when he wakes up. He
was out late this evening, and I don't know where he's been, or--or
what happened to him while he was out. Something must have happened to
him. I mean something to upset him--eithe