In an instant Peggy was sorry for her naughty trick, and turned with an apology on her lips; but without a word Huntoon seized her in his arms, and kissed her passionately. A red spot of anger showed itself in Peggy Neville's cheek. She stopped and stamped her foot. "How dare you?" she exclaimed. Romney made no answer--only stood looking at her. At last he said, "I forgive you." This was too much. What Peggy might have said in answer can never be set down, for at this moment the donkey, whose rein had slipped off Huntoon's arm, finding himself free of restraint, kicked up his heels and set off at full gallop along the path. Huntoon started after him at his fastest pace, whilst Peggy could not to save her life refrain from bursting into a fit of laughter at this undignified ending of a lovers' quarrel. As the donkey, and Huntoon following after, rushed past Brent, the Governor's horse shied so violently into the bushes that the rider had hard work to keep his seat. In his vexation Brent called out,-- "I would there were as many donkeys in the province with four feet as with two. Chase him, Huntoon! Not that way!--to the left--to the left!" Huntoon had lost sight of the donkey; but now catching the last words, he turned to the left, following the trail of the animal's feet in the new-fallen snow. Brent paused a moment and then started after him, for it was no light matter to be lost in the woods, and the path the young man had taken was an unfinished one ending in a tangle, though a side path connected it with the main road to St. Mary's. The fallen leaves lying thick in the forest path crackled like brown icicles as they crisped beneath the horse's hoofs, and Brent held a tight rein to prevent his slipping. Huntoon's pace was swifter and he was gaining rapidly; but before he had gone fifty rods, he stopped suddenly. "My God!" he cried. His breath came in deep gasps, and the sweat stood out in beads on his forehead. "Huntoon! Huntoon! Where are you?" "Here." "Where's your voice, man? I can scarce hear it. And how white you are, like one who has seen a ghost." "I have. LOOK THERE!" CHAPTER VIII A CLUE At Huntoon's exclamation, Giles Brent dashed forward still faster, and then he too stopped short and stood at gaze, for there in the centre of the blazed path lay the body of a dead priest, his cloak and cassock showing black against the whiteness around, his arms outstretched as if on a cross. The snow lay upon his breast in delicate, ruffling drifts; above him circled a hawk with ominous, flapping wings; around, far as eye could reach, stretched the interminable forest. Utter solitude! Complete isolation from humankind! Yet from that solitary figure stretched threads of destiny which should be found twisted close about the heartstrings of many fellow-beings.