Then, too there were no shutters to the windows, which were, of course, open to let in the cool night air, and the thought suddenly came into Olive’s mind of how exposed she really was, sitting there in the light of her candles, plainly to be seen, but unable to see out. A thought such as this needs but little time to grow into a veritable feeling of panic. She glanced at the black gaping windows and stared out into the measureless blackness beyond. At one moment she raised her hand to extinguish the candles and so to hide herself in the dark along with her fears, but she knew that would only make matters worse. She would see in her terrified imagination a hundred glaring eyes peering in through the window. She got up and walked about the room, trying by a little movement to throw off the oppressive sense of terror. Diana suddenly seemed to be interested in something, and raised her head and sniffed inquiringly, and her mistress, nervously awake to every sight or sound, looked anxiously around her and stopped in her uneasy walk. Diana arose and went to the door, and being a puppy wagged her tail effusively, then suddenly remembering that she ought to be a dog, barked with vehemence. Olive was ready to scream with nervous terror as she heard a step upon the slanting board which led up to the door and a second later a knock against the resounding wood. She stood spell-bound, unable to speak or move. Diana ceased barking, and looked with eager delight for the opening of the door. “It is I, friends, let me come in,” said a deep voice which thrilled Olive to the heart. The door opened and Mr. Cotterell entered. “Mr. Cotterell! What are you here for?” gasped Olive, as he came in and stood in the light, gaunt-eyed and hollow-cheeked. “I am flying for my life, Mrs. Weston. The men are out hunting me down. I have come to ask your help. Where is your husband?” “He is gone away to Mapleton.” “Ah!” said Cotterell, with a sigh that had some relief in the sound. “Then you will help me, won’t you?” “What have you done?” asked Olive, gazing at him in terror. He was wild-looking and so different from the charming gentleman she had known before. “I’ve shot Jake Mills,” he replied, without any attempt at dissimulation. “Do you mean that you’ve murdered him?” gasped Olive, starting back from him.