and he could distinctly hear her voice humming an old,
familiar air. She evidently had no thought of the possibility that her
movements could be of any interest to anybody but herself.

She reached the Meeting House and paused. Then the watching man heard
the rattle of a key in the lock. The humming had ceased. The next
moment there was the sound of a turning handle, and a tight-fitting
door being thrust open. The woman's figure had disappeared within the
building.

The man left the sheltering bush and moved out on to the trail. He
passed one thin hand across his brow, as though to clear the thoughts
behind of their last murkiness after a drunken slumber. He stretched
himself wearily as though stiff from his unyielding bed of sun-baked
earth. Then he moved down the trail toward the Meeting House,
selecting the scorched grass at the side of it to muffle the sound of
his footsteps.

His weariness seemed to have entirely passed now, and all his
attention was fixed upon the rough exterior of the old building, which
had passed through such strange vicissitudes to finally become the
house of worship it now was. With its old, heavy-plastered walls, and
its long, reed-thatched roof, so heavy and vastly thick, it was a
curiosity; the survival of days when men and beasts met upon a common
arena and played out the game of life and death, each as it suited
him, with none but the victor in the game to say him nay.

The man felt something of the influence of the place now as he drew
near. Nor could he help feeling that the game that went on about it
now had changed little enough in its purpose. The rules may have
received modification, but the spirit was still the same. Men were
still struggling for victory over some one else, and beneath the
veneer of a growing civilization, passions, just as untamed, raged and
worked their will upon their ill-starred possessors.

Reaching the building, he moved cautiously around the walls till he
came to a window. It was closed, and a curtain was drawn across it. He
passed on till he came to another window. It was partially open, and,
though the curtain was drawn across it, the opening had disarranged
the curtain, and a beam of light shone through.

He pressed his face toward the opening so that his mouth was at its
level. Then he spoke softly, in a voice that was little more than a
whisper----

"Kate!" he called. "Kate! It is I--Charlie. I've--I've been waiting
for you, and want to speak