stepped into his life, and he knew it. The something was dressed in
white and had stepped out of a tree. It was almost laughable. This
woman had come into his dreams. The very sight of her attracted
him--or was it the manner of her coming? She was just like an ideal he
had often made for himself. Few men meet even the one who looks like
the ideal, but he had seen the reality--coming out of a tree. He kept
on wondering how long she had been there. He himself had been dreaming
in front of the tree an hour before he saw her. Had she seen him
before she came out? She had given no sign; but if she had seen him,
she had trusted him with a secret. Mark looked at the tree. It was
half embedded in the wall. Then he understood. The tree masked a
secret entrance to Killimaga.

He was still smiling over his discovery when he heard the voices of the
agent and constable. They were coming back, so he dropped into his
hiding place in the tall grass.

"Well, Brown," the agent was saying, "I am going to tackle her. I've
got to see that face. It's the only way! If I saw it once, I'd know
for sure from the photograph they sent me."

"Ye'd better not," advised the constable. "She might be a-scared
before--"

"But I've got to be sure," interrupted the agent.

"Aw, ye're sure enough, ain't ye? There's the photygraft, and I seed
her."

"But she slipped me in Boston, and I nearly lost the trail. I can't