After Steve Judson had gone rapidly down the hill to where his horse was hitched and his companion was about to follow, Sally quickly put forth a detaining hand, and lightly touched him. "Milt!" she whispered.

Twice before, on this same night, he had heard that familiar voice calling to him through the darkness, and there seemed something strange and uncanny in its mysterious repetition. Was it a trick of his lively imagination, or could there be something at fault with his brain? Yet the touch reassured him. The presence must be something tangible.

"Sally!" he breathed in a low tone, filled with wonder.

"Yes, I'm here," she hastened to reply, at the same moment emerging from the dark angle of the wall and stepping to his side, while he stood rooted to the path in utter amazement at her presence.

"Sally," he again said, taking her into his arms and softly kissing her lips. "Is it really you? What brought you to this lonely spot?"

"The fear that harm might come to you," she answered, simply.

"But how did you know I was here? How came you to find this secret place?" he asked, still sorely puzzled.

"I'll tell you as you go back," she answered hurriedly. "There's no time now. It's a long story. Let's leave this place as quickly as possible. It is a dangerous spot, and each moment we tarry increases the danger."

"But how in the world did you get here?" he persisted, as they started down the hill.

"I rode old Joe. He's hidden in the willow thicket down by the branch. He will carry double," she continued. "Let's go to where he's hitched, an' I'll take you as far as the New Pike Gate, then you can ride him to the station, and take the first early train. Just turn Joe loose. He'll find his way back home."

"Then it was you who called to me as I lay in the quarry, gagged and bound," said Milton, as they hurried onward through the darkness, Sally directing the way to the clump of willows, and as they went along she told him something of what transpired during the eventful day.

"I was half tempted to believe I had heard a spirit voice," continued her companion, tenderly, speaking of his own unhappy experiences at the quarry. "It seemed as if you had really spoken, yet, as I lay and listened, I could not imagine how you could be so near me at that hour and place. It must be a dream, I reasoned, a blessed dream, born of the darkness to cheer and comfort me in my last moments on earth, for such I believed them to be. You cannot understand what a solace it was to me, even to feel that your spirit was near me."

"I did not intend that harm should come to you if I could prevent it," said the girl, earnestly. "If worse had come to worst, I had a bullet for Jade Beddow's heart, and one for Steve's, too," she added, with emphasis.

"Then you heard them go through the farce of trying me?"

"Every word of it. I was looking down into the quarry all the while. Once I drew a bead on that villain, Jade Beddow, but something prompted me to wait yet a little longer. How glad I am that I did so. For you are now free, and, thank heaven! there's no bloodstain upon my hands."

Soon Joe was gratefully turning his head toward home, though his burden was a double one.

"And so Steve is the real traitor?" said Milt, as Sally gave an account of the interview she had overheard between the Captain and Steve in the ravine near the latter's home.

"Yes, Jade Beddow worked on Steve's fears in order to make him lay the deed at your door."

"It seems that Steve is not altogether bad. He still has a spark of gratitude in his bosom, but was forced to make charges against me in order to shield himself."

"Jade Beddow is at the bottom of it all," insisted Sally, "either he or your uncle. They both want you out of the way, and will stop at nothing to carry out their plans. I don't know which is the greater villain of the two."

"Perhaps I'd better stay around here a day or two longer, and settle some old scores before I go," said Milt, thoughtfully.

"No! no!" the girl interposed, hastily. "You must leave here to-night. There are far too many dangers threatening you here, besides, your staying would bring speedy vengeance on Steve Judson. Both his safety and yours depends on your getting away as quickly and secretly as possible. No one must see you go, no one must suspect you have gone."

"And if I go far away?" questioned Milton, with a deep touch of tenderness creeping into his voice, "if I find a home elsewhere, and can get steady employment, will you come to me when I shall send for you?"

"Yes," was the exultant answer that quickly arose to her lips, but suddenly she remembered her promise to the Squire, and this bitter recollection brought with it a sickening sense of the binding obligation she was under for the sake of another's safety, and the unhappy knowledge stifled the one small word that was trembling for eager utterance on her very lips.

"Will you come, sweetheart?" persisted the young man, in tones of persuasive tenderness, mistaking her silence for maidenly reserve, "or shall I come back for you when the time is at hand to claim you for my own?"

"No! no! Milt, you must not think of coming back, when once you are safely away!" she cried impetuously.

"Then you will come to me?"

"Wait until you see what the future has in store," she answered evasively.

"There's only one thing I care for it to have in store for me, and that is you. You will come to me?" he persisted.

"If nothing prevents, I will come," she stammered. "But one cannot always tell what lies before."

"What is there to prevent?" he demanded, sharply, a ring of jealousy creeping into his tones. "What could there be?"

"A hundred things might arise that we know nothing of now," she answered hurriedly, understanding full well that she stood on most dangerous ground, that to confess to her lover the one thing that stood in the way of her going, would be to shatter all the plans she had laid for his own safety.

She knew that rather than have her keep faith with the Squire, the nephew would deliberately give himself up to the officers of the law, and loudly proclaim the ownership of the hat which was about to cost Sally so great a price. No hope could she have to get her sweetheart away did he but suspect the sacrifice she was about to make for his sake. Neither prayers nor entreaties could avail in the face of such knowledge.

For one brief moment a thought of escape came to her. She was sorely tempted to break her promise with the Squire, to delay her marriage with him, finding one excuse and another until she could hear from the absent one, and make her preparations to join him. Then all might yet end well.

But there was her mother to be considered. She was about to forget this very important item in such an arrangement. What would become of her mother, should Sally do such a thing? She could not be left to the Squire's wrath, nor could she go along with her daughter. It seemed the meshes of fate were drawing tighter and tighter around the girl. All avenues of escape appeared closed to her.

"To-day and to-night have been too trying for me!" cried Sally, wearily. "We both know what the past has been, we neither can tell about the future, so let us talk only of the present. That concerns us most."

"But I don't understand," began Milton. "This seems a new mood. It isn't like you, Sally. You don't mean that you are beginning to care less for me?"

"Have I acted to-night as if I was?" she asked sharply; his words had stung her into sudden resentment. "Did my going to the old deserted quarry for your sake, look as if I was caring less?"

"No! no! forgive me!" he cried, humbly, abashed by the reproof of her words. "I did not mean that. I know your heart is mine, else you would not have been the brave and fearless girl you were to-night. God bless you!"