"And there's to be no questioning," the voice had grown louder. "No questions--just take or leave what's offered; go or stay as you please, but if that brat of yours, God's and his mother's, ever shows his face near me or mine--I'll"--she laughed hoarsely--"I'll make him a discredit to you all! Come move up and eat the food I provided and drink the sour milk that was given you!" Morley rose unsteadily. He tried to speak and command the situation that in some subtle way had escaped his control, but he felt bereft and desperate. Now that Sandy was quite beyond recall, to whom could he turn? His strength and spirit were crushed and degraded--he moved up and sullenly took the plate and cup that were pushed toward him! Once he glanced at Molly. She leered at him over the edge of her mug and her eyes were hard and cruel. Martin Morley pushed the untouched food from him and strode to the door of the cabin. The storm was coming up fast now. The lightning flashed and the thunder shook the house. Morley's heart ached for the boy struggling alone and defenceless through the night, but he was glad he was gone! Whatever lay before of defeat or victory--he thanked God that the last of his race had had courage at least to make an attempt for freedom. The house grew very quiet; Mary had taken Molly to the loft overhead, and presently Martin heard her deep breathing and the nestling of the little girl in the straw mattress. The storm passed at last and above Lost Mountain a bright and glowing star showed through the parting clouds. Cautiously Martin whistled and then waited. Night after night this was his habit. When the others had departed he called Sandy's dog, fed it from the scraps he could gather, and comforted himself with the companionship of the faithful collie that was too wise to tempt Providence when Mary was around. Martin whistled a second time and then called softly: "Bob! oh--Bob!" There was no response. Again the man spoke drawlingly and fondly: "Bob! oh, Bob!" Then he went to the shed near the cabin and looked in. That had been Sandy's bed-chamber since the rule of Mary had begun--how terribly empty and lonely it looked now! How afraid the boy must have been when at first he was driven from the home place to the deserted outhouse! He had never whimpered nor complained. "Poor little lad!" breathed Martin, and leaned against the doorway of the wretched room. There was the ragged mattress and the little nest where the slight boyish body had so often rested after the day's cheerless toil. On the wall were pinned two or three bright pictures that had drifted somehow to the barren place; there was a pitiful little frayed jacket hanging on a nail and a pair of sadly torn shoes in one corner.