A sound smote upon her ear as she turned the bend of the path--a sound as of the footfall and snort of a horse. She looked up, and the sight that met her eyes rooted her to the ground, while the blood at her very heart stood still. But not with fear. Yet--what was that but a phantom--a phantom horseman--advancing towards her at scarce thirty paces? For the noble proportions of the coal-black steed there was no mistaking--and his rider--ah!--through many a night of horror and anguish she had seen in her dreams that towering frame, mangled and mutilated by the barbarous vengeance of the red demons, that splendid face, drawn and livid in the throes of an agonising death. Rider and steed had been parted in life--here in the lonely woods, in the glooming twilight, they were together again. Her eyes met those of the phantom. An ecstasy shook her frame, and she was powerless to articulate. A sweet smile played on her lips; her gaze was strained upon the apparition, as though in the very strength of her yearning she could constrain it to remain with her, could retard its return to the shadowy unknown. "Yseulte--love--I am no spectre," said the voice she knew so well. "I have come straight to you as soon as I learned where to find you. Come to me, darling!" He had sprung to the ground, and stood awaiting her. The spell was broken. A loud cry rang through the wood, and then she was in his arms--laughing, weeping, sobbing, then laughing again. Words were out of the question. The wintry night fell black upon the glooming oakwoods, weirdly musical with the mournful hooting of the owls. But there was no gloom in the hearts of these two who now stepped from those thickening shades. A crunch of wheels on the gravel, a flash of lamps, and the dog-cart deposited the two shooters at the front door. "Hallo, Chickie! What's in the wind, now?" exclaimed Mr Santorex, staring in amazement, as his daughter, hardly giving him time to alight, had flown at him and flung her arms around his neck, her face all aglow with more than the happiness of former days. "Father! _He's_ in there. Go in and see him!" "_He_? What the deuce! In where? Give a fellow a chance! Who's _he_?" "Mr Vipan." "Oh, ah--I remember. The champion scalp-hunter. Come to life again, has he? Let's have a look at him." As the door opened a tall figure rose from a chair, advancing with outstretched hand. "How do, Santorex?" He thus unceremoniously addressed stared, as well he might. This was Western brusquerie with a vengeance, he thought. "Confound it! am I altered so dead out of all recognition?" said the other with a careless laugh, standing full in the light. "Why, no--that is, yes. We none of us grow younger in twenty years. Well, well, Ralph. I'm heartily glad to see you, heartily glad." And the two men grasped hands in thorough ratification of the sentiment.