Lee stood at the hut door watching the sun set, and thinking, perhaps, of old Devon.

He seemed sad, and let us hope he was regretting his old crimes while time was left him.

Night was closing in on him, and having looked once more on the darkening sky, and the fog coldly creeping up the gully, he turned with a sigh and a shudder into the hut, and shut the door.
Near midnight, and all was still.

Then arose a cry upon the night so hideous, so wild, and so terrible, that the roosting birds dashed off affrighted, and the dense mist, as though in sympathising fear, prolonged the echoes a hundred fold.

One articulate cry, "Oh! you treacherous dog!" given with the fierce energy of a dying man, and then night returned to her stillness, and the listeners heard nothing but the weeping of the moisture from the wintry trees.
* * * * * The two perpetrators of the atrocity stood silent a minute or more, recovering themselves.