The detective was on the point of making one more effort to break through the tangle that encompassed him, when something caught his eye that sent a thrill to his heart. It was the glimmer of a light. It did not seem to be far away, and Dyke Darrel resumed his fight with the thickets with renewed courage. In a little time he entered a glade in the woods, to find himself standing in near proximity to a low log cabin, through a narrow window of which a light glimmered. "Some one lives here, it seems." Dyke Darrel moved forward cautiously, for he still believed that the wood was the haunt of outlaws, and this very house might be the den where the plunder of many raids was secreted. Soon the detective stood on a little rise of ground, in such a position that he could peer into the window. The interior of a small, poorly-furnished apartment met his gaze. Beside the glowing embers of a wood fire in a box stove crouched a human figure, seemingly the only occupant of the lone log cabin. There was a wealth of golden hair flashing in the firelight, and the black robe covered the form of what seemed to be a beautiful woman. As may be supposed, the detective was surprised at the sight. After a moment of reflection he resolved to enter the cabin. Striding to the door, he rapped gently. No answer came, and the detective rapped again. This time the door was cautiously opened, and a white face peered out. "Who's there?" "A traveler who has lost his way." "You cannot come in. Sibyl isn't afraid, but she wishes to be alone." Nevertheless, the woman stood aside and held the door wide. This seemed invitation enough, and the detective at once crossed the floor, and pushed to the door at his back. The female receded before him, and stood at the far side of the room, with both hands extended, waving them gently up and down. "Come no nearer, sir; Sibyl would view you from afar. There, stand where you are, and do not move. It may be that you are the one I have been looking for all these years." The speaker was evidently young, and possessed a weirdly beautiful face, that strangely attracted Dyke Darrel. He stood still and watched her singular movements curiously. She drew a morocco case from her bosom, opened it, and gazed at something, evidently a picture, long and earnestly. She seemed to be comparing the face of the picture with that of her visitor. Dyke Darrel was puzzled, and somewhat pleased. "No, you are not my Hubert; he was a nobler looking gentleman by far." "Will you permit me to look at the picture, Miss--" "No, no; I dare not trust it out of my hands. I promised him, you know, and I must not disappoint Hubert, for he is very exacting. Hark!" The girl secreted her prize, and lifted a warning hand. "Don't you hear his step? It is Hubert--dear, dear Hubert--come back to comfort his poor Sybil after these long, weary years."