"I'll be all right; I'll follow 'is footprints in the snow. I've a
'andy little electric bull's-eye to 'elp me, in my pocket."

"Are you armed, Doggott?"

"By Mr. Rutton's orders, sir, I've carried a revolver for years. You
aren't thinkin' it's come to that, sir?"

"I don't know.... If I was sure I wouldn't let you go alone," said
Amber, frowning. "It's only that Mr. Rutton may not want me about ... I
wish I knew!"

"It'll be better, sir, for you to stay and keep the fire up--if you
don't mind my makin' so free as to advise--in case 'e's 'arf-froze when
'e gets back, as is likely. But I'd better 'urry, 'specially if...."
Doggott's color faded a little and his mouth tightened. "But I 'ope
you're mistyken, sir. Good-night."

The door slammed behind him.

Alone, and a prey to misgivings he scarce dared name to himself, Amber
from the window watched the blot of light from Doggott's handlamp fade
and vanish in the storm; then, becoming sensible to the cold, went to
the fireplace, kicked the embers together until they blazed, and piled
on more fuel.

A cosy, crackling sound began to be audible in the room; sibilant jets
of flame, scarlet, yellow, violet, and green, spurted up from the
driftwood. Under the hypnotic influence of the comforting warmth,