Darrell stood erect in the bark, with his drawn sword in hand, prepared to repel the attack of his assailants, who, in their turn, seemed to await with impatience the moment which should deliver him into their power. Rain pounded the tin roof, and waterfalls obscured the pavilion into its own private 91 chamber. But it seemed that their presence was not even suspected. McClintock watched her interestedly until her golden head vanished below; then, with tolerant pity, he looked down at Spurlock, who had closed his eyes. She pulled her veil down, and he knew that silence was best. Mr.
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