Suddenly she rose and peered about her. She paled with alarm. It was growing dusk; she had forgotten that the day would have an end. It was a journey to Buckhom, and her little guide--where was he? Cautiously she retraced her steps along the shore. In a moment she' began to weep silently. When she tried to hurry the rustling of the brush halted her. Had he heard it? What was that sound far up the ridge before her? She knelt and listened. It was a man coming in the distance. She could hear him whistling as he walked. Slowly he approached, passing within a few feet of her. She had often hidden that way from unexpected travellers in the forest. She waited a little and hurried on. The thickets seemed now to hold her back as if to defeat her purpose. She got clear of them by-and-by and ran up the side of the ridge. She peered about her, seeking the familiar trail. The dusk had thickened--her alarm had grown. She stopped a moment to make sure of her way. Again she hurried on. Soon she entered the little six-mile thoroughfare from Catamount to Buckhorn. She ran a few rods down the trail and stopped. It was growing dark; she could scarcely see the ground beneath her; she might soon lose her way in the forest. She leaned against a tree-trunk and shook with sobs, thinking of her folly and of her friends at home. Presently she ran back in the direction of Master's camp. She left the trail and went slowly down the side of the ridge. She must go and tell him that she had lost her way and ask for a lantern. She could see the flicker of his fire. She groped through the bushes to a little cove opposite, where, across water some twenty rods away, she could see his camp. In the edge of the dark forest the girl sat gazing off at the firelight. She was weary and athirst; she was tortured with anxiety, but she could not summon courage to go. She could see the light flooding between tree columns, leaping into high tops, gilding the water-ripples. She could see shadows moving; she could hear voices. Light and shadow seemed to beckon and the voices to invite her, but she dared not go. She would boldly rise and feel her way a few paces, only to sit down again. Tales which her father had told her concerning the wickedness of men flashed out of her memory. That light was on the edge of the unknown world--full of mystery and peril. She could not goad herself nearer. XXV IT was Strong who had passed Edith Dunmore as night was falling over the hollow of Catamount. He was returning from his day of toil at Nick Pond. "Just in time," said the young man, who was eating supper at a rude table, from a pole above which two lighted lanterns hung. The great body of the Emperor fell heavily on a camp-stool. He blew as he flung his hat off. "Hot!" said he, and then with three or four great gulps he poured a dipper of water down his throat. Master put a small flask on the table at which they sat. "Opey-d-dildock?" Strong inquired, softly.