“You have seen the landlady since?”

“Yes.”

“And questioned her?”

“I asked her who he was.”

“Her answer?”

“She said he gave his name as Henri Clairvaux, of Paris.”

“Then it is not Bunol, sister. Why are you so agitated? It is merely a resemblance. Were we to see his face, I am sure it would prove to be that of a perfect stranger.”

Suddenly she shrank back, lowering the curtain until she had partly concealed herself behind it.

“Look!” she exclaimed. “He has stopped before entering the woods! He has turned to look back! He has pushed the hat up from his forehead to get a better view! Look, Dunbar! Even at this distance you cannot fail to recognize him!”

“By Jove, you’re right, Nadia! It is Bunol, himself! Satan take the scoundrel! What is he trying to do?”

“He has located us here, and he will try to get you into his clutches again, Dunbar.”

“Confound him! He wants to keep away from me! I’ve had enough of him! He’ll find his day with me is past! He is wasting his time.”

“I fear him more than any one else in all the world,” confessed the girl.

“Don’t you be afraid, Nadia,” said her brother. “I’ll protect you.”

“But that man’s eyes—you cannot resist their evil power.”

“Don’t you believe it! I’m stronger now than I was. I have conquered my weakness for drink, and that was what enabled him to deceive me.”

He truly thought he had conquered, but the girl realized that the battle had only just begun, and that it was her influence and her watchfulness that had kept him from drinking since the night of the exposure in London.

Hidden behind the curtain, they peered forth and watched the man in the cloak. For a few minutes he remained gazing back at the lone inn, 

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