One of those inside the cabin had been strangely affected at the sight of Dick, and that person was Anita. She turned deathly pale, her eyes assumed an expression of affright, and she trembled violently, as she first saw him. The Prince of the Road, however, if he saw her, noticed not her agitation; in fact, he took not the second glance at her while he remained at the cabin. His eyes were almost constantly fastening upon the lovely face and form of Alice. Thinking it best to humor one who might become either a powerful enemy or an influential friend, Redburn accordingly struck up a lively air, _a la banjo_, and in exact imitation of a minstrel, rendered "Gwine to Get a Home, Bymeby." And the thunders of _encore_ that came from the outside listeners, showed how surely he had touched upon a pleasant chord. He followed that with several modern serio-comic songs, all of which were received well and heartily applauded. "That recalls memories of good old times," said the road-agent, as he leaned back against the door-sill, and gazed at the mountains, grand, majestic, stupendous, and the starlit sky, azure, calm and serene. "Recalls the days of early boyhood, that were gay, pure, and happy. Ah! ho!" He heaved a deep sign, and his head dropped upon his breast. A deathlike silence pervaded the cabin; that one heartfelt sigh aroused a sensation of pity in each of the four hearts that beat within the cabin walls. That the road-agent was a gentleman in disguise, was not to be gainsayed; all felt that, despite his outlawed calling, he was deserving of a place among them, in his better moods. As if to accord with his mood, Alice began a sweet birdlike song, full of tender pathos, and of quieting sympathy. It was a quaint Scottish melody,--rich in its honeyed meaning, sweetly weird and pitiful; wonderfully soothing and nourishing to a weeping spirit. Clear and flute-like the maiden's cultured voice swelled out on the still night air, and the mountain echoes caught up the strains and lent a wild peculiar accompaniment. Deadwood Dick listened, with his head still bowed, and his hands clasped about one knee;--listened in a kind of fascination, until the last reverberations of the song had died out in a wailing echo; then he sprung abruptly to his feet, drew one hand wearily across the masked brow; raised his sombrero with a deft movement, and bowed himself out--out into the night, where the moon and stars looked down at him, perhaps with more lenience than on some. Alice Terry rose from her seat, crossed over to the door, and gazed after the straight handsome form, until it had mingled with the other road-agents, who had camped upon the slope. Then she turned about, and sat down on the couch beside Anita. "You are still, dear," she said, stroking the other's long, unconfined hair. "Are you lonely? If not why don't you say something?"