will."

Hill bowed towards her with stiff ceremony. "You are very kind, madam. But I don't like to give trouble, and I am expected back."

"By whom?" questioned Jack. "No one that counts, I'll swear. Your orderly won't break his heart if you take a night out. He'll probably do the same himself. And no one else will know. We'll let you leave as early as you like in the morning, but not before. Come, that's settled, isn't it? Go and get Rupert a shake-down, little 'un, and give him a decent feed with plenty of corn in it! No, let her, man; let her! She likes doing it, eh, Dot girl?"

"Yes, I like it," Dot said, and hurriedly disappeared before Hill could intervene.

Jack turned to his wife. "Now, missis! Go and make ready upstairs! It's only a little room, Fletcher, but it's snug. That's the way," as his wife followed Dot's example. "Now—quick, man! I want a word with you."

"Obviously," said the magistrate, dryly. "You needn't say it, thanks all the same. I'll leave that drink till—afterwards."

He straightened his tall figure with an instinctive bracing of the shoulders, and turned to the door.

Jack watched him go with a smile that was not untinged with anxiety, and lifted his glass as the door closed.

"You've got the cards, old feller," he said. "May you play 'em well!"

Fletcher Hill stepped forth into the moonlit night and stood still. It had been a swift maneuvre on Jack's part, and it might have disconcerted a younger man and driven him into ill-considered action. But it was not this man's nature to act upon impulse. His caution was well known. It had been his safeguard in many a difficulty. It stood him in good stead now.

So for a space he remained, looking out over the widespread grasslands, his grim face oddly softened and made human. He was no longer an official, but a man, with feelings rendered all the keener for the habitual restraint with which he masked them.

He moved forward at length through the magic moonlight, guided by the sound of trampling hoofs in the building where Jack's horse was stabled. He reached the doorway, treading softly, and looked in.

Dot was in a stall with his mount Rupert—a powerful grey, beside which she looked even lighter and daintier than usual. The animal was nibbling carelessly at her arm while she filled the manger with hay. She was talking to him softly, and did not perceive Hill's presence. Robin, who sat waiting near the entrance, merely pricked his ears at his approach.

Some minutes passed. Fletcher stood like a sentinel against the doorpost. He might have been part of it for his immobility. The girl within continued to talk to the horse while she provided for his comfort, low words unintelligible to the silent watcher, till, as she finished her task, she suddenly threw her arms about the animal's neck and leaned her head against it.

"Oh, Rupert," she said, and there was a throb of passion in her words, "I wish—I wish you and I could go right away into the wilderness together and never—never come back!"

Rupert turned his head and actually licked her hair. He was a horse of understanding.

She uttered a little sobbing laugh and tenderly kissed his nose. "You're a dear, sympathetic boy! Who taught you to be, I wonder? Not your master, I'm sure! He's nothing but a steel machine all through!"

And then she turned to leave the stable and came upon Fletcher Hill, mutely awaiting her.