his own so fixedly told Dare in that
moment that Charles had guessed his business on the bridge. Both men
were glad of the returning darkness, and of the presence of Ralph.

"Come along with us," the latter was saying to Dare, explaining the
errand on which they were bound; and Dare, stupefied with past emotion,
and careless of what he did or where he went, agreed.

It was less trouble to agree than to find a reason for refusing. He
mechanically put on his hat, which he had unconsciously crushed together
a few minutes before, in a dreadful dream from which even now he had not
thoroughly awaked. And, still walking like a man in a dream, he set off
with the other two.

"There was suicide in his face," thought Charles, as he swung along
beside his brother. "He would have done it if we had not come up. Good
God! can it be that it is all over between him and Ruth?" The blood
rushed to his head, and his heart began to beat wildly. He walked on in
silence, seeing nothing, hearing nothing. Raymond and the poachers were
alike forgotten.

It was not until a couple of men joined them silently in the woods, and
others presently rose up out of the darkness, to whisper directions and
sink down again, that Charles came to himself with a start, and pulled
himself together.

The party had halted. It was pitch-dark, and he was conscious of
something towering up above him, black and lowering. It was the ruined
house of Arleigh.

"You and Brooks wait here, and keep well under the lea of the house,"
said Ralph, in a whisper. "If the moon comes out, get into the shadow of
the wall. Don't shout till you're sure of them. Shaw is down by the
stables. Dare and Evans you both come on with me. Shaw's got two men at
the end of the glade, but it's the nearest coverts he is keenest on,
because they can get a horse and cart up close to take the game, and get
off sharp if they are surprised. They did last year. Don't stir if you
hear wheels. Wait for them." And with this parting injunction Ralph
disappeared noiselessly with Dare and the other keeper in the direction
of the stables.

Ralph had been right. The wind was dropping. It came and went fitfully,
returning as if from great distances, and hurrying past weak and
impotent, leaving sudden silences behind. Charles and his companion, a
strapping young underkeeper, evidently anxious to distinguish himself,
waited, listening intently in the intervals of silence. The ivy on the
old house shiver