He crossed, and was passing into the evergreen gap beyond, when he ran solidly against some person emerging. With an angry start he grappled the stranger by both arms. For an instant they wrestled silently. Wrapped in a long rough ulster or cloak, his opponent not only struggled at a disadvantage, but exerted neither weight nor force. Miles felt a lithe body strain furiously to escape, and then, after a single spasm of resistance, unexpectedly surrender. At the same moment, as they lurched back against the yielding support of young boughs, in a downfall of clotted snow, he felt his cheek swept at once sharply by fir needles and softly by disordered hair. In shifting holds, his bare hand closed tight round a bare wrist, surprisingly frail and warm. “Oh, you’re hurting me!” complained the captive in a fierce whisper. “Let go!” Whether at the voice, the contact, or the recognition, a quick thrill ran through his fore-arm, like the instant passage of a mysterious current. “It’s you!” Both spoke at once, with the same manner, the same thought. Looking for Tony, he had found his companion of the fog. This surpassing wonder overwhelmed him. Yet in that flaming instant, in the very rout of reason, Miles--where a wise man or a fool might have inferred obviously and ignobly--saw the facts with the ease of inspiration. “We’re out on the same errand,” he whispered. “You’re looking for your father?” “How did--I can’t tell you!” she panted. “Let me go! Please, let go!” “Oh, I forgot.” He released her, suddenly confused and awkward. “I didn’t mean--I--I’m sorry.” She started as if to pass, then stopped. “What did you want him for?” she asked, with a strange mingling of timidity and reproach. “Why are _you_ after him?” “I’m not,” said Miles. “It’s your friend Florio--” “My friend!” she whispered scornfully. “Then they _are_ together!” Through his excitement Miles had become aware that the sound of oars drew toward them down river, close to shore. The rowing stopped, just below; thin ice crackled, under the feet of some one tramping down toward the water; and the surly voice of Abram called from the stream,-- “That you, cap’n?” From the shore Tony answered impatiently: “Rather--with both feet in the mud. Stir your stumps, don’t keep me freezing here!” “Come’s fast as I could,” growled the other. “Needn’t think you--put on airs!” By tacit alliance, Miles and the girl found themselves leaning on the platform rail, peering together into the darkness. All below was invisible, but they heard the boat come grating to land, the mutter of the voices, and the hollow, jerky beat of oars departing quickly, straight out from shore. “Come on,” whispered Miles. “Come along. Let’s follow and see!”