conscience smote him, but he turned the
incident off with a laugh.

"Now, lads," he said, "go to work again. It will take all your energies
to keep the fire down, if it comes on to blow; and your comrades must be
tired by this time."

Fortunately it did not come on to blow. The night was profoundly calm,
so that a steady though small supply of water sufficed to quench
incipient flames.

Meanwhile Giles Jackman had left the group on the lawn almost at the
same moment with the gamekeeper; for, having been accustomed to deal
with men in similar circumstances, he had a suspicion of what might
follow. The poor man, having broken the resolve so recently and so
seriously formed, had probably, he thought, become desperate.

Ivor was too active for him, however. He disappeared before Jackman had
followed more than a few yards. After a few moments of uncertainty, the
latter made straight for old Molly Donaldson's cottage, thinking it
possible that her unhappy son might go there. On the way he had to pass
the keeper's own cottage, and was surprised to see a light in it and the
door wide open. As he approached, the sound of the keeper's voice was
heard speaking violently, mingled with blows, as if delivered with some
heavy instrument against timber. A loud crash of breaking wood met
Jackman's ear as he sprang in. Ivor was in the act of rending the
remains of a door from a corner cupboard, while an axe, which he had
just dropped, lay at his feet on the earthen floor. A black quart
bottle, visible through the opening which had been made, showed the
reason of his assault on the cupboard. If there had been any
uncertainty on the point, it would have been dispelled by the wild
laugh, or yell of fierce exultation, with which he seized the bottle,
drew the cork, and raised it to his dry lips.

Before it reached them, however, Jackman's strong hand seized the
keeper's arm. A gasp from the roused giant, and the deadly pallor of
his countenance, as he glanced round, showed that superstition had
suddenly seized on his troubled soul; but no sooner did he see who it
was that had checked him, than the hot blood rebounded to his face, and
a fierce glare shot from his eyes.

"Thank God!--not too late!" exclaimed Jackman, fervently.

The thanksgiving was addressed to God, of course without reference to
its influence on Ivor; but no words, apparently, could have been used
with better effect upon the keeper's spirit. His eyes lo