little shuffling footsteps.

In an instant every dog in the room has risen to his feet and stands
staring at the door with sullen, glowing eyes; lips wrinkling, bristles
rising, throats rumbling.

An unsteady hand fumbles at the door; a reedy voice calls, "Wullie, come
here!" and the dogs move away, surly to either side of the fireplace,
tails down, ears back, grumbling still; the picture of cowed passion.
Then the door opens; Tammas enters, grinning; and each, after a moment's
scrutiny, resumes his former position before the fire.

* * * * *

Meanwhile over M'Adam, seemingly all unsuspicious of these suspicions,
a change had come. Whether it was that for the time he heard less of the
best sheep-dog in the North, or for some more occult reason, certain it
is that he became his old self. His tongue wagged as gayly and bitterly
as ever, and hardly a night passed but he infuriated Tammas almost to
blows with his innuendoes and insidious sarcasms.

Old Jonas Maddox, one evening at the Sylvester Arms, inquired of him
what his notion was as to the identity of the Killer.

"I hae ma suspicions, Mr. Maddox; I hae ma suspicions," the little man
replied, cunningly wagging his head and giggling. But more than that
they could not elicit from him. A week later, however, to the question:

"And what are yo' thinkin' o' this black Killer, Mr. M'adam?"

"Why _black?_" the little man asked earnestly; "why _black_ mair than
white--or _gray_ we'll say?" Luckily for him, however, the Dalesmen are
slow of wit as of speech.

David, too, marked the difference in his father, who nagged at him now
and then with all the old spirit. At first he rejoiced in then change,
preferring his outward and open warfare to that aforetime stealthy
enmity. But soon he almost wished the other back; for the older he grew
the more difficult did he find it to endure calmly these everlasting
bickerings.

For one reason he was truly glad of the altered condition of affairs; he
believed that, for the nonce, at least his father had abandoned any
ill designs he might have cherished against James Moore; those sneaking
visits to Kenmuir were, he hoped, discontinued.

Yet Maggie Moore, had she been on speaking terms with him, could have
undeceived him. For, one night, when alone in the kitchen, on suddenly
looking up, she had seen to her horror a dim, moonlike face glued
against the windowpane. In the first mad panic of the momen