“Whittle’s gone travellin’ off a long way,” she answered with a scarcely perceptible sob. “There, he be gone to the river--’tis a good five mile off, he do say. I’m frightened to death here by myself.” She heard him laugh in the darkness. “How ’ud ye like to be my little wife,” he asked, “as bides alone night after night, wi’ nobody but the little ’un, now her mother have a-left her? I wouldn’t be afeard, Mrs. Whittle. Your house be so safe as a church; and there’s Duke--he’s big enough and strong enough to guard ye. Hark to en barkin’ now, the minute he do hear my voice!” “Well, and that’s true,” agreed Betty in a more cheerful tone. “Thank ye for mendin’ the hamper, Mr. Tuffin. I’ll open the door in a minute.” “No, don’t ye bother to do that,” said Dick. “The hamper’ll take no harm out here till morning. Good-night to ye.” “Good-night,” said Betty, closing the window. She heard the sound of his footsteps die away, and then the loneliness of the forest night seemed to close in upon her. Jim had often been out as late as this, and later, but the mere knowledge that he did not intend to return till daybreak made her more nervous than she had ever been. When the logs crackled or fell together she started violently; the moaning of the wind in the branches without filled her with dread, though often, when she and her husband sat by the hearth, they had declared the sound made them feel more snug. More than once she opened the window and listened; a fine, close rain was falling, making a dull patter upon the thatched roof, dripping from the eves; but besides these sounds there were many others, strange, unaccountable, terrifying--creakings and crackings of boughs; now what seemed to be a stealthy tread, now whispering voices. She chid herself for these fancies, knowing well that they must be without foundation, since Duke remained silent; nevertheless her flesh crept and the dew of terror started to her brow. At length, making a strong resolution, she went up to her attic bedchamber, undressed, and, taking the child into her arms, crept into bed. But she lay there for a long time, quaking, and staring with wide-open eyes into the darkness; until, overcome by sheer fatigue after a long and busy day, she fell asleep. She woke up suddenly, and sat for a moment vainly endeavouring to disentangle the confusion of sound which filled her ears. Her heart was beating like a drum, the blood surged in her brain--a dream-panic was still upon her, and yet there were certain other unmistakable noises to be heard without. Duke was barking in frenzied fashion and straining at his chain; men were shouting at no very great distance, and now--what was that? A single shot! “It’s the poachers!” exclaimed Betty, with chattering teeth. “Pray God they don’t come here!”