But beneath this natural panic was the soul of chivalry.

Something told him that a woman out there in the solitude needed the arms of a man; and his blood began to grow hot again.

Presently the silence was broken by a sharp cry of despair: "Have pity! Oh, God--" moaned the voice that sent thrills through his body--the voice of a woman, tender, refined, crushed.

His fingers gripped the revolver with fresh vigor, but almost instantly the rustling of dead leaves reached his ears: the man and his victim were making their way toward the house.
Bonner crouched among the bushes as if paralysed.

He began to comprehend the situation.