Campbell watched her until her form disappeared, then his eyes drooped, and he tried to think connectedly over what he had heard both from father and from daughter. It did not take him long to decide. Though he felt that he could never bring himself to love, or even respect as a friend, the child of the man who had boasted that his hands were stained with blood—and together with other, the blood of the young man’s father, he resolved to accept her terms in seeming, until he was free. The thought of his mother’s peril brought him to this decision. He could not let her be murdered, when a simple falsehood would save her. He had scarcely arrived at this determination when Lola hastily entered, her countenance flushed, her eyes glowing. “Quick! your answer—my father is coming!” she hurriedly uttered, reaching his side. “I consent—provided you assist me in freeing Fred, also.” “I will—you shall never regret your choice, if my love can repay you. But now—there’s his step. Pretend to sleep, as he may suspect something,” she hastily added, as with burning lips she gently touched his forehead. Though strongly agitated, Campbell managed to quiet his nerves in seeming, and as Mestayer entered, his suspicious glance saw only a sleeping captive and a drowsy sentinel, her head bowed upon her breast. It was evident that he had met or seen something that greatly excited him, and pleasingly, too, for a triumphant glow irradiated his face, and his dark eyes sparkled with strange brilliancy. “Lola, you may go now and lie down. You must be sleepy.” Lola arose and retired, though with reluctance. She seemed ill at ease, and to suspect danger to the one she had so suddenly given her heart, in the ill-suppressed excitement of the old man. One hand sought the pistol at her waist, and she crouched down in the passage, listening intently, ready to interfere should her fears prove well founded. Mestayer touched Campbell lightly upon the shoulder, then laughed aloud at the air of well dissimulated surprise worn by his face as the young man opened his eyes with a start. “A change in your watcher, you see, and I suppose you think a disagreeable one. You sleep sound, young man. That is a blessing, if you only think so. But that reminds me—I have something to tell you concerning your friends.” “Who—what?” stammered Ned, really surprised. “Of Hawksley, Ruel and the others who were with you when you were hunting for the girl. They have apparently become alarmed at your long absence, and have been trailing you.” “If so, I don’t see why _you_ should laugh.” “Because you don’t know all. You remember where you left your horse? Well, I sent a friend—one whom you may have known as Jasper Morton—I sent him _on your horse_ to hasten up my friends. _Now_ do you see? They—_your_ friends, have traced your trail out several miles beyond this, and are camping there, intending to follow on in the morning. _Now_ do you see why I laugh?” “No.”