“I thought you were brave,” said the girl.

“I am,” returned the young man, “very brave.  But if you had the most wonderful girl on earth to take care of in the grounds of a madhouse at two in the morning, you’d be scared too.”

He was abruptly surprised by Miss Forbes laying her hand firmly upon his shoulder, and turning him in the direction of the house.  Her face was so near his that he felt the uneven fluttering of her breath upon his cheek.

“There is a man,” she said, “standing behind that tree.”

By the faint light of the stars he saw, in black silhouette, a shoulder and head projecting from beyond the trunk of a huge oak, and then quickly withdrawn.  The owner of the head and shoulder was on the side of the tree nearest to themselves, his back turned to them, and so deeply was his attention engaged that he was unconscious of their presence.

“He is watching the house,” said the girl.  “Why is he doing that?”

“I think it’s Fred,” whispered the man.  “He’s afraid to go for the water.  That’s as far as he’s gone.”  He was about to move forward when from the oak tree there came a low whistle.  The girl and the man stood silent and motionless.  But they knew it was useless; that they had been overheard.  A voice spoke cautiously.

“That you?” it asked.

With the idea only of gaining time, the young man responded promptly and truthfully.  “Yes,” he whispered.

“Keep to the right of the house,” commanded the voice.

The young man seized Miss Forbes by the wrist and moving to the right drew her quickly with him.  He did not stop until they had turned the corner of the building, and were once more hidden by the darkness.

“The plot thickens,” he said.  “I take it that that fellow is a keeper, or watchman.  He spoke as though it were natural there should be another man in the grounds, so there’s probably two of them, either to keep Carey in, or to keep trespassers out.  Now, I think I’ll go back and tell him that Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water, and that all they want is to be allowed to get the water, and go.”

“Why should a watchman hide behind a tree?” asked the girl.  “And why——­”

She ceased abruptly with a sharp cry of fright.  “What’s that?” she whispered.

“What’s what?” asked the young man startled.  “What did you hear?”

“Over there,” stammered the girl.  “Something—­that—­groaned.”

“Pretty soon this will get on my nerves,” said the man.  He ripped open his greatcoat and reached under it.  “I’ve been stoned twice, when there were women in the car,” he said, apologetically, “and so now at night I carry a gun.”  He shifted the darkened torch to his left hand, and, moving a few yards, halted to listen.  The girl, reluctant to be left alone, followed slowly.  As he stood immovable there came from the leaves just beyond him the sound of a feeble struggle, and a strangled groan.  The man bent forward and flashed the torch.  He saw stretched rigid on the ground a huge wolf-hound.  Its legs were twisted horribly, the lips drawn away from the teeth, the eyes glazed in an agony of pain.  The man snapped off the light.  “Keep back!” he whispered to the girl.  He took her by the arm and ran with her toward the gate.