“I 've had murder in my heart for half an hour, Miss Drake. Somehow you soothe me.” He sat down on the log again and leaned his head upon his hand. With his eyes upon the dead dog he went on, controlling his anger with an effort: “I rode down the river road this morning for a change, intending to go up later on to our trysting place through the wood.” She heard him call it a trysting place without a thought of resentment or shame. “When I came to the log there I stopped, but Bonaparte, lawless old chap, kept on. I paid no attention to him, for I was thinking of--of something else. He had raced around in the forbidden underbrush for some time before I heard the report of a gun near at hand. The dog actually screamed like a human being. I saw him leap up from the ground and then roll over. Of course, I--well, I trespassed. Without thinking of my own safety I flew to where the dog was lying. He looked up into my face and whined just as he died. I don't remember how I got off the horse. The next I knew I was rushing blindly into the brush toward a place where I saw smoke, cursing like a fiend. Then came the second shot and the stinging in my arm. It brought me to my senses. I stopped and a moment later I saw a man running down along the bank of the stream. I--oh, well, there is n't any more to tell. I don't know who fired the shots. I could n't see his face.” “It was Tompkins,” she cried. “I know it was. He had his orders--” but she checked herself in confusion. “His orders? Do you mean to say--Miss Drake, did your brother instruct him to kill me?” She quailed beneath his look. “I--I can't say anything more about it, Mr. Shaw,” she murmured, so piteously that he was touched. For a seemingly interminable length of time his hard eyes looked into hers and then they softened. “I understand,” he said simply. “You cannot talk about it. I'll not ask any questions.” “My brother is weak in her hands,” she managed to say in extenuation. “After all, it is n't a pleasant subject. If you don't mind, we'll let it drop--that is, between you and me, Miss Drake. I hope the war won't break off our--” “Don't suggest it, please! I 'd rather you would n't. We are friends, after all. I thought it was playing at war--and I can't tell you how shocked I am.” [Illustration: 0112] “Poor old Bonaparte!” was all he said in reply. She stooped and laid her hand on the fast-chilling coat of the dog. There were tears in her eyes as she arose and turned away, moving toward her horse. Shaw deliberately lifted the dead animal into his arms and strode off toward his own land. She followed after a moment of indecision, leading the horse. Across the line he went and up the side of the knoll to his right. At the foot of a great tree he tenderly deposited his burden. Then he turned to find her almost beside him.