“I should like to get nearer the house,” said Kenyon. “But it’s rather a ticklish proceeding to cross those shafts of light; for there is really no knowing how many of those dozen men may be lying about in the dark.” “Perhaps the windows at the rear are not lighted,” suggested Webster. “Good! I’ll work my way around there and see. It will perhaps be best for the rest of you to remain where you are. Don’t break cover until you hear me call or are sure that I’ve gotten into trouble.” And with this he crept softly away into the darkness. While in the front of the house he kept to the trees; but when he reached the side where the light did not fall he ventured into the clearing, as the progress was less difficult there. He had not taken a dozen steps when a heavy hand was laid upon his shoulder; and a rough voice said: “I thought I heard somebody out there! So, now then, neighbor, give an account--” He only reached this far when Kenyon’s arm shot around with a sort of hooking motion. The blow traveled no more than five inches, yet the man dropped as though he had been shot. Kenyon bent over him for a moment. “He seems good for a half hour,” he muttered. “But I’ll have to risk his coming to and giving an alarm.” He wasted no time over the fallen man, but continued on his way. When he gained the rear of the house he found that all was darkness. But he heard the constant murmur of voices from somewhere near at hand, and so did not dare to advance farther. At length, however, a door opened, and a man stepped out bearing a lantern. In the rays of this Kenyon saw two men seated upon an old-fashioned settle near the door; it was these whose voices he had heard. The man with the lantern stood in the doorway for a moment; behind him Kenyon caught a glimpse of a dimly lighted hall of great width that seemed to run directly through the building. The three exchanged some remarks which Kenyon could not catch; the two men upon the settle arose, and the third closed the door. Then they struck into a narrow path among the trees and disappeared. Kenyon waited until the sounds of their footsteps had died away; then he advanced boldly, opened the door and entered. No one was to be seen; the lights were dim, as he had noticed from the outside. Softly but deliberately he walked down the length of the wide hall and turned into a room where a bright light was burning. But the room, also, was empty, and he paused, looking about him. There was a doorway hung with heavy portières, leading to a room beyond, and as Kenyon stood examining the place the voice of Forrester reached him from this latter. “I tell you, my dear, it is all for the best. You shall see that before the night is over.” “I hope so, Griscom,” said the voice of Anna. “But I can’t help being nervous.”