"Yas, suh, yas, suh,--but Ah done got 'em wide open ag'in 'side o' no time. Ah jes' couldn't holp worryin', Marse Kenneth, 'bout you all. Ah sez to mahself, ef Marse Kenneth he ain' got no fitten place to lay his weary haid--" "Oh, then you were not kept awake by noises or--by the by, did you hear any noises?" "Noises? No, SUH! Dis yere cabin hit was like a grave. Thass what kep' me awake, mos' likely. Ah reckon Ah is used to noises. Ah jes' couldn't go to sleep widdout 'em, Marse Kenneth. Wuzzen't even a cricket er a--" His master's hearty laugh caused him to cut his speech short. A wary glance out of the corner of his eye satisfied him that it was now time to change the subject. "Done fed de hosses, suh, an' mos' ready to packen up fo' de juhney, suh. Yas, SUH! Ev'thing all hunky-dory jes' soon as Marse Kenneth done had his breakfuss. YAS, suh! Yas, SUH!" They ate breakfast by candle-light, Striker and Eliza and Kenneth. There was no sign of the beautiful and exasperating girl. Phineas was strangely glum and preoccupied, his wife too busy with her flap-jacks to take even the slightest interest in the desultory conversation. "A little too early for my fellow-guest to be up and about, I see," ventured Kenneth at last, taking the bull by the horns. His curiosity had to be satisfied. Striker did not look up from his plate. "She's gone. She ain't here." "Gone?" "Yep. Left jist a little while 'fore sun-up." "Her ma sent for her," volunteered Eliza. "Sent fer her to come in a hurry," added Striker, trying to be casual. "Then it was she who went away in the wagon last night," said the young man, a note of disappointment in his voice. "Airly this mornin'," corrected his host. "Jist half an hour or so 'fore sun-up." "I trust her mother is not ill." "No tellin'," was Striker's non-committal response. It was quite apparent to Kenneth that they did not wish to discuss the matter. He waited a few moments before remarking: "I saw a light moving through the woods above here,--a lantern, I took it to be,--just after I was awakened by the barking of the dogs. I thought at first it was that which set the dogs off on a rampage." Striker was looking at him intently under his bushy eyebrows, his knife poised halfway to his lips. While he could not see Eliza, who was at the stove behind him, he was struck by the fact that there was a brief, significant suspension of activity on her part; the scrape of the "turnover" in the frying-pan ceased abruptly. "A lantern up in the woods?" said Striker slowly, looking past Gwynne at Eliza. "A light. It may not have been a lantern." "Which way was it movin'?" "In that direction," indicating the south. The turning of the flap-jacks in the pan was resumed. Striker relaxed a little. "Hunters, I reckon, goin' down stream for wild duck and geese this mornin'. There's a heap o' ducks an' geese passin' over--"