ou I was listening to my father?"

Again that same chilly tremor passed over her as it had then.

The sun, over the Adirondack foot-hills, hung above bands of smouldering
cloud. Presently it dipped into them, hanging triple-ringed, like Saturn
on fire.

"It's time for you to go," he said in an altered voice; and she turned
to find him standing and ready to aid her.

A little pale with the realisation that the end had come so soon, she
rose and walked slowly back to where his horse stood munching leaves.

"Well, Virginia--good-bye, little girl. You'll be all right before
long."

There was no humour left in his voice now; no mocking in his dark gaze.

She raised her eyes to his in vague distress.

"Where are the others?" he asked. "Oh, up on those rocks? Yes, I see the
smoke of their fire.... Say good-bye to them for me--not _now_--some
day."

She did not understand him; he hesitated, smiled, and took her in his
arms.

"Good-bye, dear," he said.

"Good-bye."

They kissed.

After she was half-way to the top of the rocks he mounted his horse. She
did not look back.

"She's a good little sport," he said, smiling; and, gathering bridle,
turned back into the forest. This time he neither sang nor whistled as
he rode through the red splendour of the western sun. But he was very
busy listening.

There was plenty to hear, too; wood-thrushes were melodious in the late
afternoon light; infant crows cawed from high nests unseen in the leafy
tree-tops; the stream's thin, silvery song threaded the forest quiet,
accompanying him as he rode home.

Home? Yes--if this silent house where he dismounted could be called
that. The place was very still. Evidently the servants had taken
advantage of their master's and mistress's absence to wander out into
the woods. Some of the stablemen had the dogs out, too; there was nobody
in sight to take his horse, so he led the animal to the stables and
found there a lad to relieve him.

Then he retraced his steps to the house and entered the deserted garden
where pearl-tinted spikes of iris perfumed the air and great masses of
peonies nodded along borders banked deep under the long wall. A few
butterflies still flitted in the golden radiance, but already that
solemn harbinger of sunset, the garden toad, had emerged from leafy
obscurity into the gravel path, and hopped heavily forward as Malcourt
passed by.

The house--nothing can be as silent as an empty house--echoed his
spurred