John sat in his saddle watching the tall soldierly figure move up the road and back again to the cabin his ancestors had held through one long night of fear.

John caught sight of the face as Penhallow came and then turned away on his slow walk, smoking furiously.
He sat still, having learned to be respectful of the long silences to which at times Penhallow was given.

Now and then with a word he quieted the uneasy mare--a favourite taught to follow the master.

At last Penhallow struck his pipe on a stone to empty it, and by habit carefully set a foot on the live coal.

Then he came to the off side of his mare and took the rein.