t the drummer's dree.
And, day by day, as her sorrow grew,
Her spinning wheel groaned and the threads wove through;
It groaned.--It groaned.--It groaned and the threads wove through.

"What a stupid little song, after all!" I exclaimed. "Surely there
must be another verse to it? Where does the happy ending come in?"

But, though I listened eagerly, no further sounds broke the stillness
of the night save the sobbing and moaning of the sea and the hooting of
a friendly owl in the forest behind.

CHAPTER XXV

The Ghoul

Next morning, I looked out upon a wet mist that hung over Golden
Crescent like a spider's gigantic web all a-drip with dew.

My visitors of the previous night had gone three hours ago. I had
heard them getting up steam, but I was still too weak and stiff to
think of getting out of bed so early to see them off.

I turned, as usual, to watch the upward, curling smoke from Mary's
kitchen fire. Strange to say, this morning there _was_ no smoke.

"Taking a rest," I thought, "after her long watching and nursing over a
good-for-nought like me! Ah, well!--I shall breakfast first then I
shall pay my respects and ask forgiveness of the lady for 'the things I
have done that I ought not to have done,' and all will be well."

I hurried over that porridge, and bacon and eggs. I dressed with
scrupulous care, even to the donning of a soft, white, linen collar
with a flowing tie.

"Surely," I reasoned, "she can never be cruel to me in this make-up."

When I started out, all seemed quiet and still over there at Mary
Grant's.

With a feeling of disrupting foreboding, which dashed all my merriment
aside, I quickened my footsteps.

The windows were closed; the door was shut tight. I knocked, but no
answer came. I tried the door:--it was locked.

"Why! What can it be?" I asked myself.

My roving eyes lit on a piece of white paper pinned to the far post of
the veranda. It was in pencil, in Mary's handwriting.

"George,

"There is yet another battle for you to fight. I am going away.
Please do not try to find out where, either by word or by deed.

"Golden Crescent will always be in my thoughts. Some day, maybe, I
will come back.

"God bless you and keep you, and may you ever be my brave and very
gallant gentleman.

"Mary Grant."

I read it over, and over again, but it seemed as if the words would
never link themselves together in my brain and form anything tangible.

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