Jackson had planned to follow Thatch until he went for his whisky, but as time pressed he abandoned his purpose and hurried back to find Sevier. He was much chagrined to find no candle burning in the court-house. If he was to keep his appointment with Elsie, he could not waste any time looking for his friend. He hesitated for a moment, then set off for the Tonpit cabin. He stood at the edge of the clearing just as the moon climbed above the forest crown. The cabin was dark, and a hush hung over the place. He proceeded to the arbour and softly called her name. Even as he paused for her to answer, he was convinced she would not come. Not only did the clearing and the cabin exhale the atmosphere of something abandoned, but the queer fancy obsessed him that life had never dwelt there; that his meeting with the girl in the morning hours was a dream. He had promised her he would not seek her at the house, and he had assured Sevier he would seek her father there. The silence was oppressive and grew upon him and his first feeling, which was of sadness, gave place for alarm. Groping his way to the log, he brushed it with his fingers and was rewarded by finding a scrap of paper. This should have brought him happiness and should have dispelled his morbid imaginings, for it proved she had been there a short time since and, therefore, must even now be in the cabin. The effect on his melancholy was quite the contrary; it savoured more of some memento of old, dead days, like the finding of a keepsake in the débris of ancient things. “Idiot!” he snarled at himself. “One would think I was bewitched. Elsie has been here and left a word for me. Now to see what she has to say.” He hastened out into the thin moonlight and essayed to read the paper but was baffled. It was maddening to know he must wait until he reached a cabin light before he could know her message. It was a small, irregular piece of paper, suggesting it had been torn hurriedly from a larger piece. This in itself, betokening great haste or need of secrecy, was disquieting. He turned, eager to reach a light, then remembered his word to Sevier. Thrusting the paper into his hunting-shirt, he strode through the clumps of shrubbery and made for the cabin. Elsie had said her father retired to his room at this hour but not to sleep. He walked the floor much of the night, but no light shone in the cabin. To make sure, Jackson made a circuit of the house before approaching the door. Then as he raised his hand to rap his first premonition of emptiness came back to him. He pounded lustily and gained no heed. The cabin was dead. He seized the latch-string only to drop it. He knew he could gain an entrance easily. Tonpit would not bother to lock the house.