She looked at him steadily for a moment, one hand at her breast. Once again Norton noted the clear beauty of her grey eyes and gold-red hair, the character and fresh womanliness of her whole face. "Sir--you met--my father and Mr. Duval?" she said slowly. Norton comprehended the alarm in her eyes, and laughed again. "Aye, that I did, Kitty!" he cried gaily. "And your Mr. Duval did me the honour of an apology for what happened on the Beargrass Creek Road yesterday. But pardon--my name is John Norton, at your service now and always." She looked into his eyes for a moment longer, then turned and walked around the corner of the house, beckoning. Norton followed, to find a spring trickling up beneath a crab-apple tree. Gravely, she dipped out a gourd of water, held it to him, and he drank. "Thanks, Kitty!" he sighed. "You have nigh saved my life this day----" "Then you had best save it for yourself," she returned quickly, yet with a laugh in her eyes, "by departing speedily. If Charles Duval gave you an apology, look to your steps, sir!" "Eh?" Startled out of his gay mood, Norton looked keenly at her. "Now what may you mean by that, sweet Kitty?" The girl, however, only shrugged her shoulders and laughed. "'Tis easy to see you are from Louisiana, Mr. Norton"--and he marvelled at the ringing timbre of her voice--"since from you it is 'Kitty' and 'sweet Kitty', while our Kentuckians will ever have it 'Madam Grigg' or mayhap 'Miss Kathleen'." "Faith, I had it _Kitty_ from Colonel Boone," laughed Norton easily. "Oh, but he is an old family friend--a second father." Abruptly, the girl fell serious, and put out an imploring hand to his arm, as she glanced at the trail. "Pray, Mr. Norton--go at once! You are in danger, I assure you----" "Not a bit of it," broke in Norton soberly. "I'm in the woods to get out of danger, Miss Kitty. Even now, I suspect that horsemen are searching for me on the Lexington post-road. But I would like to know what makes you think I am in danger----" "Because my father allows no one around here"--and the girl drew back with a slight flush. Norton thought of Duval, but forbore to mention the obvious. "But--what do you mean? Why are men searching for you? Are you jesting?" "Well, it's more or less of a joke," he laughed, seeing her quick alarm. Plainly, she knew more than did he; whether from Abel Grigg or not, danger threatened and she was afraid. So, with a light air, he told her of what had chanced at the tavern. She listened quietly, her eyes flitting from his face to the trees and back again. She was stirred out of herself. Norton had never seen so rare a girl in all his life--clear, incisive, with grey eyes that could harden into ice or sparkle into star-glints. The brown homespun fell loosely enough about her slender figure, but Norton's fancy transformed it into brocade, and he imagined this girl as she would look were she dressed in the fashion of the New Orleans belles.