looking from the front of the wing, commanding the loop of the drive and the steps. Some one was standing just within the hood of the porch, for from the entrance streamed a narrow shaft of light, shining with the peculiar floating, wavering gleam which is only given by a light held in the hands. From the beat of hoofs and the scarcely perceptible sound of wheels it was a single rig that was approaching. The light shone presently on the horse's head, flashed in his eyes, slipped along his flank as he swung around, and finally stopped as the buggy stopped, resting upon the back part of the wagon body, leaving the hollow between the dashboard and the hood in black shadow.
"You are earlier than I used to be, Bert," Rader's voice spoke from the veranda. Beside his clear, singing tone the replying voice was slovenly in enunciation, and muffled, but Carron heard enough to get its timber and quality, and his heart quickened as the idea shot through his mind. Was this the person, that mysterious third person who had tied Rader's tongue and put the man on the road so much in awe? A young man! Not Rader's contemporary, but his own. Carron saw the difficulty doubled. It would make the stallion harder to come at than buried treasure. He pressed his face to the glass and peered down. A vague form, dark on
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