He said, and there was a fibre and ring in his voice that made them catch their breaths:  “There’s something outside that I’m following to-night.  I don’t know what it is.  It is the taste of the wind and the feel of the air and the smell of the ground.  And I’ve got to be ridin’.  I’m saying good-bye for a bit, Kate.”

“Dan,” she cried, “what’s happened?  What’s on your face?”

“The mark of the night,” he answered.  “I don’t know what else.  Will you come with me, Kate?”

“For how long?  Where are you going, Dan!”

“I don’t know where or how long.  All I know is I’ve got to be going.  Come to the window.  Take the air on your face.  You’ll understand!”

He drew her after him and cast up the window.

“Do you feel it in the wind” he called to her, turning with a transfigured face.  “Do you hear it?”

She could not speak but stood with her face lifted, trembling.

“Look at me!” he commanded, and turned her roughly towards him.  There he stood leaning close to her, and the yellow light flickered and waned and burned again in his eyes.

He had held her hands while he stared.  Now he dropped them with an exclamation.

“You’re blank,” he said angrily.  “You’ve seen nothing and heard nothing.”

He turned on his heel.

“Bart!” he called, and walked from the room, and they heard the padding of his soft step down the hall and on the porch and then—­silence.

Black Bart slunk to the door and into the hall, but instantly he was back and peering into the gloom of the silent place like an evil-eyed spectre.

A sharp whistle rang from outside, and Black Bart started.  Still he glided on until he stood before Kate; then turned and stalked slowly towards the door, looking back after her.  She did not move, and with a snarl the wolf-dog whirled again and trotted back to her.  This time he caught a fold of her skirt in his teeth and pulled on it.  And under the pressure she made a step.

“Kate!” called Joe Cumberland.  “Are you mad, girl, to dream of goin’ out in a night like this?”

“I’m not going!” she answered hurriedly.  “I’m afraid—­and I won’t leave you, Dad!”

She had stopped as she spoke, but Black Bart, snarling terribly, threw his weight back, and dragged her a step forward.

“Buck,” cried old Joe Cumberland and he dragged himself up and stood tottering.  “Shoot the damned wolf—­for God’s sake—­for my sake!”

Still the wolf-dog drew the girl in that snarling progress towards the door.

“Kate!” cried her father, and the agony in his voice made it young and sent it ringing through the room.  “Will you go out to wander between heaven and hell—­on a night like this?”

“I’m not going!” she answered, “I won’t leave you—­but oh—­Dad!——­”

He opened his lips for a fresh appeal, but the chorus of the wild geese swept in upon the wind, blown loud and clear and jangling as distant bells out of tune.  And Kate Cumberland buried her face in her hands and stumbled blindly out of the room and down the hall—­and then they heard the wild neighing of a horse outside.