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We listened again. "They've gone the wrong way," I said, still savage.

Turn again thine eyes, maiden passing fair. O maiden passing fair, turn again thine eyes!"

Yet great is precept. Precept is a well. Up from its far depths by slow, humble, constant process you may draw, in a slender silver thread, and store for sudden use, the pure waters of character.

I stepped back, heaving. "Who and what are you? Who and what are you?"

I took my weapon into my bridle-hand by the barrel and began to draw from my bosom the empty envelope addressed Coralie Rothvelt. At the same time I let my horse move forward again, while I still listened backward with my brain as busy as a mill. Was there here no hidden succor? Was that no part of Ned Ferry's plan--if the plan was his? Were those villains waiting yet, up at the ford? I could hear nothing at my back but the singing of innumerable birds.

With the rein dangling under the bits he went over the fence like a deer.

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