She had scarcely quitted the loft when a shrill whistle pierced the silence that hung above the clearing.

It was twice repeated, and the two women were heard to go from the cabin.

Perhaps half an hour elapsed, then a step became audible on the packed earth of the dooryard; some one entered the room below and began to ascend the narrow stairs, and Betty's fingers closed convulsively about Hannibal's.

This was neither Mrs.Hicks nor her daughter, nor Slosson with his clumsy shuffle.
There was a brief pause when the landing was reached, but it was only momentary; a hand lifted the bar, the door was thrown open, and its space framed the figure of a man.

It was John Murrell.
Standing there he regarded Betty in silence, but a deep-seated fire glowed in his sunken eyes.