"No," replied Nora, "for then I did not think as I do now. I really believed you were about to commit murder. Oh, Jack, how happy you have made me, by withholding your hand." "Once you said it would be better for me to kill Thompson at sight. Did you not?" "I did not, Jack. That is what father told you." "Pardon me, Nora, you are quite right. Time has blurred my memory." "I am so glad, Jack, that you are such a fearless man. A coward would have taken the advantage you had and would have slain Al." "Thank you." CHAPTER XIV The little cabin at the foot of the mountain was enshrouded in gloom, would soon be engulfed by the dark shadows of night. In the cabin window a candle light, wafted by the soft twilight breeze, flickered and sputtered, but burned on in obedience to the will of the powers that be. In a bed in one corner of the room lay Nora, that sweet girl of the wilds, a pallor spread over her face. The light in the window was flickering just as her own life had been flickering and smoldering, but it did not go out. She was still alive, and the crucial point had been passed. Now she lay, the Diana of the hills, as beautiful as the Diana of old. Outside 'neath the large spreading tree the chickens were strutting, craning their necks, bobbing their heads up and down, looking upward preparatory to a flight to the limbs above them. On the rickety little porch old Rover was lying, head cast down between his front forepaws, with a sorrowful expression upon his dog face. The mistress had been ill for some time, and his master--Wade--had not paid the least attention to him, always appearing as though he preferred being alone; so the old dog, feeling the many slights, went about with a cast-down countenance.