After that the man slept more soundly. Macheson himself dozed for an hour until he was awakened by the calling of the birds. Directly he opened his eyes he knew that something had happened to him. It was not only the music of the birds--there was a strange new music stirring in his heart. The pearly light in the eastern sky had never seemed so beautiful; never, surely, had the sunlight streamed down upon so perfect a corner of the earth. And then, with a quick rush of blood to his cheeks, he remembered what it was that had so changed the world. He lived again through that bewildering moment, again he felt the delicious warmth of her presence, the touch of her hair as it had brushed his cheek, the soft passionate pressure of her lips against his. It was like an episode from a fairy story, there was something so delicate, so altogether fanciful in that flying visit. Something, too, so unbelievable when he thought of her as the mistress of Thorpe, the languid, insolent woman of the world who had treated him so coldly. Then a movement behind reminded him of his strange visitor. He turned round. The man was already on his feet. He looked better for his sleep, but the wild look was still in his eyes. "I must go," he said. "I ought to have started before. Thank you for your shelter." Macheson reached out for his spirit lamp. "Wait a few minutes," he said, "and I will have some coffee ready." The man hesitated. He looked sorely in need of something of the sort. As he came to the opening of the shelter, the trembling seized him again. He looked furtively out as though he feared the daylight. The sunshine and the bright open day seemed to terrify him. "I ought to have gone on last night," he muttered. "I must----" He broke off his sentence. Macheson, too, had turned his head to listen. "What is that?" he asked sharply. "The baying of dogs," Macheson answered. "Dogs! What dogs?" he demanded. "Colonel Harvey's bloodhounds!" The man's face was ashen now to the lips. He clutched Macheson's arm frantically. "They are after me!" he exclaimed. "Where can I hide? Tell me quick!" Macheson looked at him gravely. "What have you been doing?" he asked. "They do not bring bloodhounds out for nothing." "I have hurt a man down in the village," was the terrified answer. "I didn't mean to--no! I swear that I did not mean to. I went to his house and I asked him for money. I had a right to it! And I asked him to tell me where--but oh! you would not understand. Listen! I swear to you that I did not mean to hurt him. Why should I? He was old, and I think he fainted. God! do you hear that?" He clung to Macheson in a frenzy. The deep baying of the dogs was coming nearer and nearer. "Listen," Macheson said, "the dogs will not be allowed to hurt you, but if you are loose I promise that I will protect you from them. You had better wait here with me." The man fell upon his knees.