“And you never even hear from him?”

Naida hesitated, but the frankly displayed interest of the other won her complete girlish confidence.  “Not directly, but Mr. Herndon receives money from him for me.  He does n’t let your aunt know anything about it, because she got angry and refused to accept any pay from him.  He is somewhere over yonder in the Black Range.”

Miss Spencer shook back her hair with a merry laugh, and clasped her hands.  “Why, it is just the most delightful situation I ever heard about.  He is just certain to come back after you, Naida.  I wouldn’t miss being here for anything.”

They were still sitting there, when the notes of a softly touched guitar stole in through the open window.  Both glanced about in surprise, but Miss Spencer was first to recover speech.

“A serenade!  Did you ever!” she whispered.  “Do you suppose it can be he?” She extinguished the lamp and knelt upon the floor, peering eagerly forth into the brilliant moonlight.  “Why, Naida, what do you think?  It’s Mr. Moffat.  How beautifully he plays!”

Naida, her face pressed against the other window, gave vent to a single note of half-suppressed laughter.  “There ’s going to be something happening,” she exclaimed.  “Oh, Miss Spencer, come here quick—­some one is going to turn on the hydraulic.”

Miss Spencer knelt beside her.  Moffat was still plainly visible, his pale face upturned in the moonlight, his long silky mustaches slightly stirred by the soft air, his fingers touching the strings; but back in the shadows of the bushes was seen another figure, apparently engaged upon some task with feverish eagerness.  To Miss Spencer all was mystery.

“What is it?” she anxiously questioned.

“The hydraulic,” whispered the other.  “There ’s a big lake up in the hills, and they ’ve piped the water down here.  It ’s got a force like a cannon, and that fellow—­I don’t know whether it is Herndon or not—­is screwing on the hose connection.  I bet your Mr. Moffat gets a shock!”

“It’s a perfect shame, an outrage!  I ’m going to tell him.”

Naida caught her sleeve firmly, her eyes full of laughter.  “Oh, please don’t, Miss Spencer.  It will be such fun.  Let’s see where it hits him!”

For one single instant the lady yielded, and in it all opportunity for warning fled.  There was a sharp sizzling, which caused Moffat to suspend his serenade; then something struck him,—­it must have been fairly in the middle, for he shut up like a jack-knife, and went crashing backwards with an agonized howl.  There was a gleam of shining water, something black squirming among the weeds, a yell, a volley of half-choked profanity, and a fleeing figure, apparently pursued by a huge snake.  Naida shook with laughter, clinging with both hands to the sill, but Miss Spencer was plainly shocked.

“Oh, did you hear what—­what he said?” she asked.  “Was n’t it awful?”