Once the stalking had fairly begun, the girl became absorbed in the game. All memory of Sayre, if there indeed had been any to make her falter in her purpose, now departed. She was a huntress pure and simple, silent, furtive, adroit, intent upon her quarry. There came a kind of fierceness into her concentration; the joy of the chase thrilled her as she crept noiselessly through the woods, describing a circle, crossing the stream far above the sleepy fisherman, gliding, stealing nearer, nearer, until at length she stood in the thicket behind him. For a moment she waited silently, freeing her net and gathering it in her right hand ready for a deadly cast. Then, pursing up her red lips, she mewed like a cat-bird, three times. Instantly, across the stream, she saw Ethra step out of the willows into plain view; saw Langdon wake up, stare, get up, and regard the beautiful vision across the stream with concentrated and delighted attention. Then Amourette stole swiftly forward over the moss, swinging the heavy silken net in her right hand, closer, closer. Suddenly the net whistled in the air, glistened, lengthened, and fell, enmeshing Langdon; and, at the same instant something behind her whistled and fell slap; and she found herself struggling in the folds of an enormous butterfly net. "Ethra! Help!" she cried, terrified, trying to keep her balance in the web which enveloped her, striving to tear a way free through the meshes; but she was only wrapped up the tighter; two brutal masculine arms lifted her, held her cradled and entangled, freed the handle from the net, and bore her swiftly away. "Darling," whispered William Sayre, "d-don't kick." "_You_!" she gasped, struggling frantically. "The real thing, dearest of women! The old-fashioned, original cave man. Will you come quietly? There's a license bureau in the next village. Or shall I be obliged to keep right on carrying you?" "Oh, oh, _oh_!" she sobbed; "what disgrace! what humiliation; what shame! Oh, Ethra! Ethra! What in the world am I to do?" "That's where the mistake arose," said William gently; "_you_ don't have to do anything--except put both arms around my neck and--be careful not to knock off my glasses." "_Glasses_! Ethra! Ethra! Where are you? Don't you see what is becoming of me? You--you had b-better hurry, too," she added with a sob, "because the man who is carrying me off is the man I told you about. _Ethra_! Where are you?" A convenient echo replied in similar terms. Meanwhile Sayre was walking faster and faster through the woods. For a while she lay motionless and silent, cradled in his arms. And after a long, long time she tried feebly to adjust the disordered ondulations on her hair. Then a very small, still voice said: "Mr. Sayre?" "Darling!" She seemed to recognise this as her name. "Mr. Sayre, w-what are you going to do with me?" "Marry you." "B-b-by f-f-force?" "That is up to you, darling." "Against my will?" "That also is up to you."