unless you are a hunter--or the hunted."

Lory glanced at his father. Assuredly the sleeping mind was beginning to
rouse itself.

"It is nothing but the stirring of a leaf here, the movement of a branch
there, which are unusual and unnatural."

As he spoke, he opened the window with that slow caution which had become
habitual to his every thought and action.

"There," he said, pointing with a steady hand; "to the left of that
almond tree which is still in bloom. Watch those willows which have come
there since the wall fell away, and the terrace slipped into the flooded
river twenty-one years this spring. You will see the branches move.
There--there! You see. It is a man, and he comes too slowly to have an
honest purpose."

"I see," said Lory. "Is that land ours?"

The count gave an odd little laugh.

"You can see nothing from this window that is not ours," he answered.
"As much as any other man's," he added, after a pause. For the conviction
still holds good in some Corsican minds that the mountains are common
property.

"He is coming slowly, but not very cautiously," said Lory. "Not like a
man who thinks that he may be watched from here. He probably is taking no
heed of these windows, for he thinks the place is deserted."