d sound, but in her as well as in him the
close-centred magic was working absorption.

Each of them felt the tense, new something that neither fully
understood, but which set them vibrating to a single impulse as the two
prongs of a tuning fork answer to one note. Neither of them thought of
the figure that hitched its way toward them--more cautious after that
first warning rustle--to watch and listen--the figure of an armed man.

For the girl reality seemed to recede into the gossamer of dreams. She
could fancy herself the other woman who had lived and died before
her--and the face of the man in the moonlight might have been that of
the pioneer Thornton. Fancy was stronger than actuality.

"Hit almost seems like," she whispered, "that ther old tree's got a
spell in hit--ter bewitch folks with."

"Ef hit has ... hit's a spell I loves right good," he fervently
protested.

He heard her breath come quick and sudden, as if under a hypnotic force,
and following the prompting of some instinctive mentor, he held out his
arms toward her.

Still she stood with the wide-eyed raptness of a sleepwalker, and when
Cal Maggard moved slowly forward, she, who had been so shy an hour ago,
made no retreat.

It was all as though each of them reacted to the command of some
controlling volition beyond themselves. The man's arms closed about her
slender body and pressed it close to his breast. His lips met her
upturned ones, and held them in a long kiss that was returned. Each felt
the stir of the other's breath. To each came the fluttering tumult of
the other's heart. Then after a long while they drew apart, and the
girl's hands went spasmodically to her face.

"What hev we been doin', Cal?" she demanded in the bewildered tone of
returning realization. "I don't skeercely know ye yit, nuther."

"Mebby hit war ther spell," he answered in a low but triumphant voice.
"Ef hit war, I reckon God Hisself worked hit."

The figure in the tangle had drawn noiselessly back now and slipped off
into the woods a few hundred yards away where it joined another that
stood waiting there.

"I hain't mad with ye, Cal," said Dorothy, slowly. "I hain't even
mortified, albeit I reckon I ought ter be sick with shame ... but I
wants ye ter go home now. I've got need ter think."

As they stood together at the fence they heard Bas Rowlett's voice
singing down the road, and soon his figure came striding along and
stopped by the stile.

"Howdy, Dorothy,"