A light step echoed through the rock-bound chamber, and a tall form came and stood over him, with folded arms, gazing down upon his countenance with vividly-glowing eyes. It was the man who had called himself Albert Mestayer, but Ned could not remember having ever met him before. “You are right, Lola. Go, now. I wish to be alone with this man for a time.” A light, graceful form glided past him and paused within range of Campbell’s vision, her eyes resting softly upon his face. A light of pity seemed to beam from their liquid depths as she uttered: “You will not—not harm him, father?” “Go—it is not your place to question me. You forget yourself, child,” sternly replied Mestayer, his brow contracting. With another glance at the bewildered hunter, Lola disappeared from view. Then the eyes of the two men met fully, and Campbell read in those of the tall man a depth of hatred that for a moment chilled his blood. But then his courage returned, and he was once more himself, cool and collected. “Well, sir, will you tell me what this treatment means, if, as I suppose, you are the one who struck me in the dark?” “And may I ask why you were prowling round my home with drawn revolver?” retorted Mestayer. “I was seeking for a friend, and had reason to believe that he was detained here by force,” boldly added Campbell, closely eying the old man; but the sneering smile didn’t change in the least. “Who do you allude to?” “Fred Hawksley. He followed your—that woman here, a week ago, and has not been seen or heard of since.” “How do you know that he came here?” “I was with the party that followed him and her. We saw by the trail that he came here.” “I thought as much. Well, there is no need of keeping the truth from you, for I don’t think you will ever betray me—for a very good reason. He did come here—in much the same manner that you did. But he is not here now,” and the old man laughed diabolically. “You did not murder him?” faltered Campbell. “Never mind. You had far better be thinking of your own self. It may be beyond your power to do so ere long.” “Threatened men live long. But tell me: _where is Fannie Hawksley_?” suddenly added the young hunter. This random shaft told. Mestayer started and seemed confused. Campbell saw that his sudden suspicion was correct. “How did you find—what do you know about that? But bah! I’m a fool. It’s only guess-work. You are nobody’s fool, my friend. I give you credit for that. But first—before I answer you, what is she to you that you take such an interest in her?” “She is my promised wife.” “_Was_, you mean. I am glad to see that I was not misinformed. Prepare yourself, my poor friend, for some affecting news,” he added, mockingly. “Your true love is no more. However, you have one consolation. You will not be long separated from her.” “Bah! I know you are lying—I can see it in your eyes,” scornfully retorted the young hunter.