To the impatient, inexplicably startled girl, it seemed an age before he rejoined her.

“You are safe,” he said; “he’s going by the western trail toward Indian Spring.”

“Who is he?” she asked, biting her lips with a poorly restrained gesture of mortification and disappointment.

“Some stranger,” replied Low.

“As long as he wasn’t coming here, why did you give me such a fright?” she said pettishly.  “Are you nervous because a single wayfarer happens to stray here?”

“It was no wayfarer, for he tried to keep near the trail,” said Low.  “He was a stranger to the wood, for he lost his way every now and then.  He was seeking or expecting some one, for he stopped frequently and waited or listened.  He had not walked far, for he wore spurs that tinkled and caught in the brush; and yet he had not ridden here, for no horse’s hoofs passed the road since we have been here.  He must have come from Indian Spring.”

“And you heard all that when you listened just now?” asked Nellie half disdainfully.

Impervious to her incredulity, Low turned his calm eyes on her face.  “Certainly, I’ll bet my life on what I say.  Tell me:  do you know anybody in Indian Spring who would likely spy upon you?”

The young girl was conscious of a certain ill-defined uneasiness, but answered, “No.”

“Then it was not you he was seeking,” said Low thoughtfully.  Miss Nellie had not time to notice the emphasis, for he added, “You must go at once, and lest you have been followed I will show you another way back to Indian Spring.  It is longer, and you must hasten.  Take your shoes and stockings with you until we are out of the bush.”

He raised her again in his arms and strode once more out through the covert into the dim aisles of the wood.  They spoke but little; she could not help feeling that some other discordant element, affecting him more strongly than it did her, had come between them, and was half perplexed and half frightened.  At the end of ten minutes he seated her upon a fallen branch, and telling her he would return by the time she had resumed her shoes and stockings glided from her like a shadow.  She would have uttered an indignant protest at being left alone, but he was gone ere she could detain him.  For a moment she thought she hated him.  But when she had mechanically shod herself once more, not without nervous shivers at every falling needle, he was at her side.

“Do you know any one who wears a frieze coat like that?” he asked, handing her a few torn shreds of wool affixed to a splinter of bark.

Miss Nellie instantly recognized the material of a certain sporting-coat worn by Mr. Jack Brace on festive occasions, but a strange yet infallible instinct that was part of her nature made her instantly disclaim all knowledge of it.

“No,” she said.

“Not any one who scents himself with some doctor’s stuff like cologne?” continued Low, with the disgust of keen olfactory sensibilities.