Here the shadows were less assertive, for a rude, square window had been cut in one of the gables, and the moonlight came through and lay in a refulgent rhomboidal figure upon the floor. An occasional flicker across it told of a fluctuating stir amongst the cobwebs that hung in thickly woven folds from the rafters, and were stretched in gossamer filaments across the aperture itself; sometimes, as these caught the light, they gave out a silvery glimmer, as if some precious metal had served in the weaving. There was a great pile of corn in the ear in one corner, and the swelling masses of hay bulged far over the open pass-way beneath, and almost hid it from view. Amongst its billows, close in to the wall, a setting hen, with outspread wings, was upon her nest; now and then she opened her small bright eyes, but for the most part she kept them calmly shut, for, timorous though she was, she had become inured to the strange conditions of the place, feeling assured that whatever might result from the councils held here, she and hers were not under consideration. Altogether incongruous and at variance with the simple, rural significance of the spot were the figures of armed men, that lay idly and at ease upon the hay, or strode restlessly to and fro upon the quaking flooring, or paused before the square moon-flooded window to look out upon the strip of cultivated land, the expanse of darkling forest on every hand, the violet vaporous spaces—empty air—above the unseen valley, and the towering, purple, moonlit ranges looming to the sky; but most of all, and often indeed, they looked down the white winding road where the little forge stood under the crag, between the mountains and the dark and lustrous river. “Hy’re, Clem,” the owner of the premises was greeted, when his head appeared above the floor as he slowly mounted the rungs. “Hy’re,” he responded in a gruff growl. The tone and manner were so uncharacteristic that one or two of the martial figures striding about turned and looked around at him in surprise. Bassett, lying on the hay, lifted himself upon his elbow, and demanded, “What ails you-uns ter be so powerful high an’ mighty? Ye think ye air Teck Jepson, don’t ye?” Clem Sanders said nothing for a moment. Still with his unwonted air of grave dissatisfaction, he lumbered into the moonlit place, one hand in his pocket, his shoulders slouched forward as he peered about from under his broad hat-brim at the men’s faces, as if he were seeking to individualize them, and mentally calling the roll. “Whar’s Teck, ennyhows?” he asked. “He ain’t hyar.”