Mr. Shaw. Open up and let us in. It's Dave Bank and
Ed Hunter. We can't make the cabin before the rain." Shaw could see
their faces now and then by the flashes of lightning and he recognized
the two woodsmen, who doubtless had been visiting sweethearts up
toward Ridgely.

"Take your horses to the stable, boys, and come in," he called,
laughing heartily. Then he hurried off to the gun-room. He passed Mrs.
Ulrich coming downstairs yawning prodigiously; he called to her to
wait for him in the library.

There was no one in the gun-room; the door leading to the back porch
was open. With an exclamation he leaped outside and looked about him.

"Good heavens!" he cried, staggering back.

Far off in the night, a hundred yards or more up the road, leading
to Grimes' cabin he saw the wobbling, uncertain flicker of a light
wending its way like a will-o'-the-wisp through the night. Without
a moment's hesitation and with something strangely like an oath, he
rushed into the house, almost upsetting the housekeeper in his haste.

"Visitors outside. Make 'em comfortable. Back soon," he jerked out as
he changed his coat with small respect for his injured arm. Then he
clutched a couple of rain-coats from the rack and flew out of the back
door like a man suddenly gone mad.

CHAPTER VI

IN WHICH A GHOST TRESPASSES

The impulse which drove Penelope out for the second time that night
may he readily appreciated. Its foundation was fear; its subordinate
emotions were shame, self-pity and consciousness of her real feeling
toward the man of the house. The true spirit of womanhood revolted
with its usual waywardness.

She was flying down the stony road, some distance from the cottage,
in the very face of the coming tornado, her heart beating like a
trip-hammer, her eyes bent on the little light up the mountain-side,
before it occurred to her that this last flight was not only senseless
but perilous. She even laughed at herself for a fool as she recalled
the tell-tale handbag on the porch and the damning presence of a
Bazelhurst lantern in the hallway.

The storm which had been raging farther down the valley was at
last whirling up to the hill-tops, long delayed as if in gleeful
anticipation of catching her alone and unprotected. The little
electric saddle-lamp that she carried gave out a feeble glow, scarce
opening the way in the darkness more than ten feet ahead. Rough and
irksome was the road, most stubborn the wall of wind.