Clayton did not delay. The girl accepted his departure with a pale
face, but with a quiet submission that touched him. Of Raines he
had seen nothing and heard nothing since the night he had left the
cabin in anger; but as he came down the mountain after bidding
Easter good-by, he was startled by the mountaineer stepping from
the bushes into the path.

Ye air a-goin' home, I hear," he said, quietly.

"Yes," answered Clayton; " at midnight."

Well, I'll walk down with ye a piece, ef ye don't mind. Hit's not
out o' my way."

As he spoke his face was turned suddenly to the moonlight. The
lines in it had sunk deeper, giving it almost an aged look; the eyes
were hollow as from physical suffering or from fasting. He
preceded Clayton down the path, with head bent, and saying
nothing till they reached the spur of the mountain. Then in the
same voice:

"I want to talk to ye awhile, 'n' I'd like to hev ye step inter my
house. I don't mean ye no harm," he added, quickly, " 'n' hit ain't
fer."

Certainly," said Clayton.

The mountaineer turned into the woods by a narrow path, and soon
the outlines of a miserable little hut were visible through the dark
woods. Raines thrust the door open. The single room was dark