Part 24 (1/2)

”Yes,” I said

”And I alad,” said Madelad,” I said

”You are sorry?”

”Perhaps, Madee of bitterness I could not suppress, ”if I had seen more of the world, if my clothes were in better taste, and my manners less abrupt--you would feel differently I wonder

But let us be silent, for we are alh damp thickets, a sense of uneasiness cah I knew that this was hardly possible I feared, and yet I kneell enough it ritten somewhere that we should meet once ht to the place We should s I wished that it was light enough to see his face

At a turn of the path I reined up and listened It was very still

Already the light had gone out of the sky, and little was left of the land about us, save varying tones of black Had he gone?

I cautiously dismounted In a minute we should see In a minute--Then Mademoiselle interrupted me, and I was both astonished and irritated, for e than I cared to have theht

”We are there?” she inquired

”Softly, Mademoiselle,” I cautioned her ”If you will dismount, you can see the place It is not three hundred feet beyond the thicket So! You will admit it is not o forward”

I did not listen to an objection that she was fraly mass of the house took a more certain shape before h elation Even today when I look at a place thatof the saly as it did that evening It was another matter that made me hesitate From the shadow of the doorway I heard a sound which was tooof a pistol hammer not to make me remember that a sas all I carried

”There is no need to cock that pistol,” I said, in a tone which I hoped sounded more confident than my state of mind I halted, but there was no answer and no further sound

”I said,” I repeated, raising my voice, ”there is no need to cock that pistol It is a friend of Captain Shelton who is speaking”

”So,” said a voice in careful, precise English ”Walk three paces forward, if you please, and slowly, v-e-r-y slowly Now You are a friend of the captain?”

”In a sense,” I replied ”I ae”

”So,” said the voice again, and I saw that a man was seated before me on the stone that had served as a doorstep, aa pistol in the palm of his hand

”I fear I have been rude,” he said, ”but I find this place--what shall I say?--annoying Your voices are alike, and I know he has a son You say you bring a ht what to say

”It is about the paper,” I began ”The captain was to bring it to you here, and now he finds he cannot”

”Cannot?” he said, with the rising inflection of another language than ours ”Cannot?”

”Rather,” I corrected myself hastily, ”he finds it more expedient to meet you elsewhere”

”Ah,” he said, ”that is better For a moment I feared the captain was dead So the paper--he still has it?”

”He not only has it,” I said, ”but he is ready to give it to you--at another place he has naer to the country here?”

My question was not a welcome one