Quinton has given Eleanor "The Master Builder" to read, himself being a believer in the strange theory of will power. He is much upset by Quamina's story, bewildered at the mystery shrouding this evil demon. His life is becoming a purgatory on earth; he goes in daily dread of some fresh disaster. He says little to Eleanor, but she notices he does not sit out in the verandah, preferring the shelter of four walls, as if in mortal fear of something. "Does he picture a phantom shooting in the dark?" she wonders. She offers to sing, but he silences her with a petulant movement and gruff word. He is not in the mood for music. The loaded revolver he always keeps in his room is brought down and laid beside him as he smokes and reads. Eleanor is grieved to see him so unhinged. It is a pitiable thing when a man loses his pluck, and the woman must play the part of consoler and encourager. The following morning, to her surprise, Quinton seems no less frightened than on the previous night. He refuses to go out, and sits in moody silence or paces the room--both equally trying to the patient Eleanor. At last the idea seizes her that, if she shows daring and goes out alone, leaving him to brood in solitude, it may spur Quinton to rouse himself and cast off his apprehensions. Surely he will not be outdone by a woman! "I am going for a stroll," she announces calmly. "Oh! Are you?" His lips twitch nervously. He does not volunteer to accompany her. She takes up a large shady hat, and winds a long white veil over her face. "Won't you come, too?" she asks mildly. "No, certainly not, and I think you are very foolhardy to go." She stares at him in amazement. "My dear boy, are we to stay in for ever because of old Quamina and her ugly sayings? If the devil is coming for me, he'll come in whether I hide or not; besides, I do not believe in devils!" "No, but living assassins, modern highwaymen, who scout the country to shed blood, seeking whom they may devour. If you take my advice you will stay safely indoors." But, for the sake of example, Eleanor shakes her head. If she gives in to him now their life will be one of cowering seclusion. There is something convincing in the light of day that drives from her heart all qualms and misgivings. "I see no reason why we should not walk abroad just the same as Elizabeth or any other person. You were only attacked once, and that was at night. Look, for instance, at the white woman on the charger. She was alone. I don't think even a highwayman, though, would tackle her," with a low laugh. "She'd be a pretty good handful for anybody. I could imagine her mesmerising a lion with those eyes. I have no doubt she is a crack shot, too, from the bold way she carried her gun. She was a regular Amazon." "You forget I have never seen the white stranger you allude to."