"Two hundred and twenty-one, two hundred and twenty-two, two hundred and twenty-three," he counted aloud. "Fifth call, sister, the time is going; two hundred and twenty-four, two hundred and--" At this moment there was a strange interruption to the proceedings. A tall man wearing a rubber coat, which reached below his knees, opened the door, and, leaving it open, stood just upon the inside, carrying a pistol in his right hand, which hung by his side. "The shadow!" both men thought at once; and very determined and ugly looked the shadow, with his long, sallow face, and dark moustache. "Alice," he said to the woman, "come out." The woman quickly jumped up, and hurried outside. The shadow followed, backing out like a lion-tamer leaving a cage, and closing the door after him. But while he stood inside the door, although he was there only a moment, both men noticed a strange peculiarity. The upper part of his left ear was gone,--cut off clean, as if with a knife; and this peculiarity was so unusual that they remarked it more than his face. The circumstance gave them both an impression that the shadow was a desperate man, and that he was accustomed to fierce brawls. Tug and Silas looked at each other in blank dismay a long time after the mysterious pair had disappeared, not venturing to look out, fearing it might be dangerous; but finally Tug said,-- "Silas, I must have a gun. Do you happen to have one?" Silas shook his head. "Then I must steal one, for I need a gun. The shadow looks so much like an uncle of my wife's that I am more determined than ever to kill him." Whereupon he went over to the table, emptied the two packages of poison on to the floor, and went to bed. CHAPTER XI. THE WHISPERS IN THE AIR. There is a wide and populous world outside of Davy's Bend, from which Allan Dorris recently came; let the whispers in the air, which frighten every man with their secrets, answer why he had resolved never again to see Annie Benton. During his residence in Davy's Bend he had met the girl frequently, usually at the stone church near his house, where she came to practise; and after every meeting he became more than ever convinced, after thinking about it,--and he thought about it a great deal,--that if their acquaintance continued, there would come a time when he would find it difficult to quit her society. The pleasure he enjoyed in the company of the pretty organist was partly due to the circumstance that she was always pleased at his approach, although she tried to disguise it; but beyond this,--a long way beyond this,--there was reason why he should avoid her; for the girl's sake, not his own.