she once had loved--was it a century ago?--dragged out
and murdered before her eyes!

She felt the springs of life stop at her heart as Rick Jeffreys opened
the cupboard door. He raised the flickering candle. For one terrible
moment, in which Barbara tasted the bitterness of death, he stood
looking in.

Then he deliberately drew back, closed the door, turned and crossed the
room to his waiting comrade on the threshold. He did not cast even an
instant's glance at Barbara as he passed her.

[Illustration: "RICK JEFFREYS OPENED THE CUPBOARD DOOR."]

"Is there any loft?" he demanded, in his usual deep, harsh tone, looking
around the passage as if to complete the search.

Barbara heard a voice, that seemed to her not her own, issue from her
parted lips, saying, "No, there is no loft."

They saw there was not, and proceeded downstairs. She followed them with
trembling limbs. She was almost fainting, but followed because she dared
not stay behind. The ominous silence in which Rick Jeffreys had passed
her seemed fraught with something worse than even the horror she had
dreaded.

The Vigilance Committee did not waste their time, but being assured that
the fugitive they sought was not lurking in or about the ranch, they
promptly went on their way--the leader, before they departed, however,
pausing to express his regret for any inconvenience they might have
occasioned the lady by their unexpected inroad.

Colonel Jeff was the last to speak.

"I will make my apologies later," he said, as he took his leave. Barbara
caught the sinister gleam of his eye as he spoke, and she knew that
"later" time would be soon.

Barely an hour had passed since the tramp of the horses of the departing
Vigilantes had died away into the silence of the windless night, when
another knock summoned Barbara to the front door.

"I knew you would come back," she said, as the big, powerful form of
Colonel Jeff towered upon the threshold, tall and dark against the
background of the darkness.

"You knew me well enough for that?" he rejoined, grimly.

She closed the door, and turned towards the parlour.

"In here," she said, quietly.

He looked at her with a kind of fierce astonishment. Into his dark eyes,
that seemed to burn black with smouldering fury, there leapt a flash of
reluctant admiration, that shook and thrilled him with a passion more of
bitter wrath than of love. Instead of being crushed with shame and
humiliation, drooping in fear a