While the sheriff, mourning softly over his fractured wrist, sat watching the house in case of alarm, the scientist, the painter, and the trust magnate, sweating amid the nameless graves, hurriedly reinterred the sack of clean sand which bore the name of Wilfrid Blair.

"And now," said Chester Kent, petting his blistered palms, as the last shovelful of dirt was tamped down, "I'll take you back with me, Mr.

Sheriff, to Sedgwick's place, and do the best I can for you till the morning. About six o'clock we'll find you unconscious below the cliffs where you fell in the darkness. Eh?"

Despite his pain the sheriff grinned. "I guess that's as good as the next lie," he acquiesced. "You fight fair, Professor."

"Then answer me a fair question. What were you doing at Hedgerow House to-night?"

"Why, you see," drawled the official, "I saw you fishin' that stream, and it come to my mind that you was castin' around for more than trout that wasn't there. But I didn't hardly think you'd come so soon, and I was asleep when the noise of the spade on the coffin woke me."

"Bad work and clumsy," commented Kent with a scowl. "Come along. My car will carry three. Sedgwick can sit on the floor. Good night, Mr. Blair.

All aboard, Frank."

There was no answer.

"What became of Sedgwick?" demanded Kent.

"He was here half a minute ago; I'll swear to that," muttered the sheriff.

Kent stared anxiously about him. "Frank! Frank!" he called half under his breath.

"Not too loud," besought Alexander Blair.

The clouds closed over the moon. Somewhere in the open a twig crackled.

Sedgwick had disappeared.

CHAPTER XVI-THE MEETING

Hope had surged up, sudden and fierce, in Sedgwick's heart, at the gleam of the candle in Hedgerow House. He was ready for any venture after the swift climax of the night, and his hope hardened into determination.

Faithfully he had taken Kent's orders. But now the enterprise was concluded, to what final purpose he could not guess. He was his own man again, and, perhaps, behind that gleam from the somber house, waited the woman-his own woman. Silently he laid his revolver beside his spade, and slipped into the shadows.

He heard Kent's impatient query. He saw him as he picked up the relinquished weapon and examined it: and, estimating the temper of his friend, was sure that the scientist would not stop to search for him. In this he was right. Taking the sheriff by the arm, Kent guided him through the creek and into the darkness beyond. Mr. Blair, walking with heavy steps and fallen head, made his way back to the house. Sedgwick heard the door close behind him. A light shone for a time in the second story. It disappeared. With infinite caution, Sedgwick made the detour, gained the rear of the house, and skirting the north wing, stepped forth in the bright moonlight, the prescience of pa.s.sion throbbing wildly in his breast.

She sat at the window, head high to him, bowered in roses. Her face was turned slightly away. Her long fine hands lay, inert, on the sill. Her face, purity itself in the pure moonlight, seemed dimmed with weariness and strain, a flower glowing through a mist.

With a shock of remembrance that was almost grotesque, Sedgwick realized that he had no name by which to call her. So he called her by the name that is Love's own.

She did not change her posture. But her lips parted. Her lids drooped and quivered. She was as one in a lovely dream.

He stepped toward her and spoke again.

"You!" she cried; and her voice breaking from a whisper into a thrill of pure music: "_You!_"

There was, in the one syllable, so much of terror that his heart shivered; so much of welcome that his heart leaped; so much of joy that his heart sang.

Bending, he pressed his lips on her hands, and felt them tremble beneath his kiss. They were withdrawn, and fluttered for the briefest moment, at his temples. Then she spoke, hurriedly and softly.

"You must go. At once! At once!"

"When I have just found you?"

"If you have any care for me-for my happiness-for my good name-go away from this house of dread."

"What?" said Sedgwick sharply. "Of dread? What do you do here, then?"

"Suffer," said she. Then bit her lips. "No! No! I didn't mean it. It is only that the mystery of it-I am unstrung and weak. To-morrow all will be right. Only go."

"I will," said Sedgwick firmly. "And you shall go with me."

"I! Where?"

He caught her hand again and held it to his heart. "To

"'See the gold air and the silver fade And the last bird fly into the last light',"

he whispered.

"Don't!" she begged. "Not that! It brings back that week too poignantly.

Oh, my dear; please, please go."

"Listen," he said. "Heart of my heart, I don't know what curse hangs over this house; but this I do know, that I can not leave you here. Come with me now. I will find some place for you to-night, and to-morrow we will be married."

With a sharp movement she shrank back from him.

"Married! To-morrow!" The words seemed to choke her. "Don't you know who I am?"

Fear chilled his mounting blood as Kent's a.n.a.lysis of the probabilities came back to him.

"If you are married already," he said unsteadily, "it-it would be better for me that Kent had let him shoot."

[Ill.u.s.tration: _She sat at the window, bowered in roses._]

"Who?" she cried. "What has been pa.s.sing, here? You have been in danger?"

"What does it matter?" he returned. "What does anything matter but-"

"Hark!" she broke in, a spasm of terror contracting her face.

Footsteps sounded within. There was the noise of a door opening and closing. Around the turn of the wing Alexander Blair stepped into view.

His pistol was still in his hand.

"Still here, sir?" he inquired with an effect of murderous courtesy.

"You add spying to your other practises, then." He took a step forward and saw the girl. "My G.o.d! Marjorie!" he cried.

Sedgwick turned white, at the cry, but faced the older man steadily.