Poor Katrine's senses were painfully alert that night, as she lay listening after getting to bed. The words she had overheard in the gun-room seemed to her to bear but one meaning--that not only was her father going abroad into the wilds of danger, but Edgar Reste also. They had gone to their respective rooms early, soon after she went to hers; but that might be meant as a blind and told nothing. By-and-by, she caught a sound as of the stairs creaking. Mr. Reste and her father were both creeping down them. Katrine flew to her window and peeped behind the blind. They went out together by the back door. The bright moonbeams lay full upon the yard. Mr. Reste seemed to be attired like her father, in high leggings and a large old shooting-coat, no doubt borrowed plumes. Each of them carried a gun, and they stole cautiously out at the little side gate. "Oh," moaned the unhappy Katrine, "if papa would but take better care of himself! If he would but leave off doing this most dreadful and dangerous thing!" Whether Katrine fell asleep after that, or not, she could never decide: it appeared as though but a short time had elapsed, when she was startled by a sharp sound outside, close to the house. It might have been the report of a gun, but she was not sure. This was followed by some stir in the yard and covert talking. "They are bringing in the game they have shot," thought Katrine, "but oh, I am thankful they have got back safely!" And she put the pillow over her head and ears, and lay shivering. * * * * * Squire Todhetley was as good and lenient a man at heart as could be found in our two counties, Warwickshire and Worcestershire; fonder of forgiving sins and sinners than of bringing them to book, and you have not read of him all these years without learning it. But there was one offence that stirred his anger up to bubbling point, especially when committed against himself. And that was poaching. So that, when we got downstairs to breakfast at Dyke Manor on the following morning, Wednesday, and were greeted with the news that some poachers had been out on our land in the night, and had shot at the keepers, it was no wonder the Squire went into a state of commotion, and that the rest of us partook of it. "Johnny, tell Mack to fetch Jones; to bring him here instantly," fumed he. "Those Standishes have been in this work!" I went to carry the orders to Mack in the yard. In passing back, after giving them, I saw that the dog-kennel was empty and the chain lying loose. "Where's Don?" I asked. "Who has taken him out?" "Guess he have strayed out of hisself, Master Johnny," was Mack's answer. "He was gone when I come on this morning, sir, and the gate were standing wide open." "Gone then?--and the gate open? Where's Giles?"