Late that night a man is walking slowly up and down the little footpath that leads from the highway, just opposite Mapleton, down to the river and close past that pretty, white boat house belonging to the Lamotte domain.
He is very patient, very tranquil in his movements, and quite unconscious that, crouched in the shadow, not far away, a small figure notes his every action.
Presently a second form emerges from the gloom that hangs over the gates of Mapleton, and comes down toward the river. Just beside the boat house it pauses and waits the man’s approach.
The new comer is a woman. The night is not so dark but that her form is distinctly visible to the hidden watcher.
“Well,” says the man, coming close beside her, “I am here—madam.”
“Yes,” whispers the woman. “Have you—” she hesitate
