no ear for the soft voices of the night. The gentle breeze carried to
him the low, deep-toned roar of the crashing waters at Elbow Rock; but
he did not hear. Moved at last by a feeling of restless longing, and the
certainty that only a sleepless bed awaited him in the house, he left
the porch to stroll along the bank of the river.



CHAPTER XVI.

THE SECRET OF AUNTIE SUE'S LIFE.


Brian Kent, strolling along the bank of the river in the moonlight,
and preoccupied with thoughts that were, at the last, more dreams than
thoughts, was not far from the house when a sound from behind some
near-by bushes broke in upon his reveries. A moment, he listened. Then
telling himself that it was some prowling animal, or perhaps, a bird
that his presence had disturbed, he went on. But he had gone only a few
feet farther when he was conscious of something stealthily following
him. Stepping behind the trunk of a tree, he waited, watching. Then he
saw a form moving toward him through the shadows of the bushes. Another
moment, and the form left the concealing shadow, and, in the bright
moonlight, he recognized Judy.

At first, the man's feeling was that of annoyance. He did not wish to be
disturbed at such a time by the presence of the mountain girl. But
his habitual gentleness toward poor Judy, together with a very natural
curiosity as to why she was following him at that time of the night,
when he had supposed her in bed and asleep, led him to greet her kindly