nt up for."

"Oh, it couldn't be----" Clare began. She never finished.

Stonor kept his vigil at the open door. He bade Clare throw ashes on the
embers, that no light from behind might show him up. When she had done
it she crept across the floor and sat close beside him. Mary,
apparently, had not been awakened.

Minutes passed, and they heard no sounds except the rapids and the
pines. Clare was perfectly quiet, and Stonor could not tell how she was
bearing the strain. He bethought himself that he had perhaps spoken his
mind too clearly. To reassure her he said:

"It must have been a bear."

"You do not think so really," she said. A despairing little wail escaped
her. "I don't understand! Oh, I don't understand! Why should he hide
from us?"

Stonor could find little of comfort to say. "Morning will make
everything clear, I expect. We shall be laughing at our fears then."

The minutes grew into hours, and they remained in the same positions.
Nature is merciful to humans, and little by little the strain was eased.
The sharpness of their anxiety was dulled. They were conscious only of a
dogged longing for the dawn. At intervals Stonor suggested to Clare that
she go lie down on the bed, but when she begged to remain beside him, he
had not the heart to insist. In all that time they heard nothing beyond
the natural sounds of the night; the stirrings of little furry footfalls
among the leaves; the distant bark of a fox.

And then without the slightest warning the night was shattered by a
blood-curdling shriek of terror from Mary Moosa in the room adjoining.
Stonor's first thought was for the effect on Clare's nerves. He jumped
up, savagely cursing the Indian woman. He ran to the communicating door.
Clare was close at his heels.

Mary was lying on the floor, covering her head with her arms, moaning
in an extremity of terror, and gibbering in her own tongue. For a while
she could not tell them what was the matter. Stonor thought she was
dreaming. Then she began to cry in English: "Door! Door!" and to point
to it. Stonor made for the door, but Clare with a cry clung to him, and
Mary herself, scrambling on all fours, clutched him around the knees.
Stonor felt exquisitely foolish.

"Well, let me secure it," he said gruffly.

This door was fitted with a bar, which he swung into place. At the
window across the room, he swung the shutter in, and fastened that also.

"You see," he said. "No one can get in here now."

The