For the first time, there was no Marie to welcome her. The room, though lighted, looked dreary and forlorn without the pretty adopted girl. "The little goosie," said Eveley, with a tender smile. "I suppose she is still dreaming down in that spooky canyon. Maybe she has fallen asleep. I shall have to go after her." She took a small flash-light, and hurried down the rustic stairs and the well-known path beyond the rose pergola, where she hoped to find Marie. But Marie was not there. Eveley knew every foot of the canyon by heart; she went surely and without hesitation along the twisting, winding, rocky path, half-way down the narrow slope. "Marie," she called softly, "Marie." But there was no answer. "Maybe she is behind the live oak in the Rambler's Retreat," she thought, and climbed up the steep bank from the path, clinging to bits of shrubbery and foliage. But Marie was not there. And then as Eveley turned, she heard quick running steps in the pathway under the swinging bridge that spanned the canyon lower down. Eveley sighed aloud in her relief,--then her breath caught in her throat,--a gasp of fear. For sounding clear and distinct above the light steps came a pounding of heavier feet. Some one was following Marie up the path,--no, there were two for there was another pounding a little fainter, farther away. Now Eveley could hear the frightened intake of Marie's breath as she ran. Two girls alone in the dark canyon. Eveley clung desperately to the heavy shrubbery among which she was crouching. She was about three feet above the path on the steep bank. Clinging for support with one hand, she reached noiselessly about for a stone, but there was nothing upon which she could lay her hand. Below the path, the canyon dropped sharply for a long way, fifty or sixty feet perhaps, not a precipice, but with a decided drop that could only be descended with care. If Marie would only lie down and roll, she might be able to hide among the bushes at the bottom. But Marie did not think of that. Her one idea was to run faster and faster, in the hope of escaping her pursuers. "Marie," whispered Eveley sharply as the girl came up the path near her, and Marie, hearing the faint sound, stopped suddenly in her tracks, swaying, more frightened than ever. "Lie down, lie down," urged Eveley, but Marie did not hear, and before she could gather her wits to run on, a man leaped toward her, both arms outstretched. "I got you," he panted. Marie, following the terrified instinct of every hunted animal, swung her lithe body and ducked beneath his arm. And at that moment, Eveley, tightening her hold upon the branches of the bush, drew up her feet, braced herself against the bank for a moment, and then sprang heavily against the man with both feet and sent him reeling head-first down the canyon. [Illustration: "Marie," whispered Eveley sharply.]