Then, by a swift rebound--she knew not why--her mind went back to the events of the morning. She thought of Hugh Ritson and his mysterious threat. What did he mean? What harm could he do them? Oh! that she had been calmer, and asked. Her heart fluttered. It flashed upon her that perhaps it was he and not his mother who had sent for her to-night. Her pulse quickened. At that instant the curlew shot over her head with its deep, mournful cry. At the same moment she heard a step approaching her. It came on quickly. She stopped. "Who is it?" she asked. There was no answer. The sound of the footstep ceased. "Who are you?" she called again. Then with heavy thuds in the darkness and on the snow, some one approached. She trembled from head to foot, but advanced a step and stopped again. The footstep was passing her. She brought the light of the lantern full on the retreating figure. It was the figure of a man. Going by hastily, he turned his head over his shoulder and she saw his face. It was the face of Paul, colorless, agitated, with flashing eyes. Every drop of Greta's blood stood still. "Paul!" she cried, thrilled and immovable. There was an instant of unconsciousness. The earth reeled beneath her. When she came to herself she was standing alone in the lane, the lantern half buried in the snow at her feet. Had it been all a dream? She was but twenty yards from the house. The door of the porch stood open. Chilled with fear to the heart's core, she rushed in. No one was in the hall. Not a sound, but the faint mutter of voices in the kitchen. She ran through the passage and threw open the kitchen door. The farm laborers were at supper, chatting, laughing, eating, smoking. "Didn't you hear somebody in the house?" she cried. The men got up and turned about. There was dead silence in a moment. "When?" "Now." "No. What body?" She flew off without waiting to explain. The kitchen was too far away. Hugh Ritson's room opened from the first landing of the stairs. The stairs went up almost from the porch. Darting up, she threw open the door of Hugh's room. Hugh was sitting at the table, examining papers by a lamp. "Have you seen Paul?" she cried, in an agonized whisper, and with a panic-stricken look. Hugh dropped the papers and rose stiffly to his feet. "Great God! Where?" "Here--this moment!" Their eyes met. He did not answer. He was very pale. Had she dreamed? She looked down at the snow-crusted lantern in her hand. It must have been all a dream. She stepped back on to the landing, and stood in silence. The serving people had come out of the kitchen, and, huddled together, they looked at her in amazement. Then a low moan reached her ear. She ran to Mrs. Ritson's room. The door to it stood wide open; a fire burned in the grate, a candle on the table. Outstretched on the floor lay the mother of Paul, cold, still, and insensible.