the Winfield
murderer. She had longed intensely to warn him--scenting certain
unpleasantness to him, and possible danger, although she was loyally
firm in the belief that he could not be the man for whom they were
searching. Still, how like the description was! Even though Norah's
faith was unshaken, she knew that the veriest hint of the Hermit's
existence would bring the troopers down on him as fast as they could
travel to his camp. She put aside resolutely the thoughts that flocked
to her mind--the strange old man's lonely life, his desire to hide
himself from his fellow-men.

"I don't understand it a bit," she said aloud. "But I'll have to tell
him. He ought to know."

With that she sprang up and ran on through the scrub. It was thick
enough to puzzle many a traveller, but the little maid of the bush saw
no difficulties in the way. It was quite clear to her, remembering how
the Hermit had guided their merry party on the first visit, weeks ago.
At the exact spot on the creek she struck off at right angles into the
heart of the trees, keeping a sharp lookout for the tall old form that
might appear at any moment--hoping that her father might not grow tired
of fishing and coo-ee for her to return.

But there was silence in the bush, and no sign of the Hermit could be
seen. The thought came to Norah that he might have struck camp, and gone
farther back into the wild country, away from the men he dreaded. But
she put the idea from her. Somehow she felt that he was there.

She came to the clump of dogwood that hid the old log along which lay
the last part of the track to the Hermit's camp and, climbing up, ran
along it lightly. There were no recent footprints upon it. Suddenly the
silence of the surroundings fell heavily on her heart.

Reaching the end of the log that gave access to the clearing, she took a
hasty glance round. The ashes of the fire were long dead. No one was
there.

Norah's heart thumped heavily. For a moment she fought with the longing
to run back--back from this strange, silent place--back to Daddy. Then
she gulped down something in her throat, and giving herself an impatient
shake, she went resolutely across the clearing to the tent and peeped
in.

The interior of the tent was as neat and homelike as when Norah had seen
it first. The quaint bits of furniture stood in their places, and the
skins lay on the floor. But Norah saw nothing but her friend's face.

The Hermit was lying on his bunk--a