She had wandered she knew not how far, when she was suddenly seized with the same vague sense of a foreign presence which she had felt before.

Could it be Curson again, with a word of warning?
No! she knew it was not he; so subtle had her sense become that she even fancied that she detected in the invisible aura projected by the unknown no significance or relation to herself or Low, and felt no fear.

Nevertheless she deemed it wisest to seek the protection of her sylvan bower, and hurried swiftly thither.
But not so quickly nor directly that she did not once or twice pause in her flight to examine the new-comer from behind a friendly trunk.

He was a stranger--a young fellow with a brown mustache, wearing heavy Mexican spurs in his riding-boots, whose tinkling he apparently did not care to conceal.

He had perceived her, and was evidently pursuing her, but so awkwardly and timidly that she eluded him with ease.