Kells suddenly came to her, treading noiselessly, and he leaned over
her. His visage was a dark blur, but the posture of him was that of
a wolf about to spring. Lower he leaned--slowly--and yet lower. Joan
saw the heavy gun swing away from his leg; she saw it black and
clear against the blaze; a cold, blue light glinted from its handle.
And then Kells was near enough for her to see his face and his eyes
that were but shadows of flames. She gazed up at him steadily, open-
eyed, with no fear or shrinking. His breathing was quick and loud.
He looked down at her for an endless moment, then, straightening his
bent form, he resumed his walk to and fro.

After that for Joan time might have consisted of moments or hours,
each of which was marked by Kells looming over her. He appeared to
approach her from all sides; he round her wide-eyed, sleepless; his
shadowy glance gloated over her lithe, slender shape; and then he
strode away into the gloom. Sometimes she could no longer hear his
steps and then she was quiveringly alert, listening, fearful that he
might creep upon her like a panther. At times he kept the camp-fire
blazing brightly; at others he let it die down. And these dark
intervals were frightful for her. The night seemed treacherous, in
league with her foe. It was endless. She prayed for dawn--yet with a
blank hopelessness for what the day might bring. Could she hold out
through more interminable hours? Would she not break from sheer
strain? There were moments when she wavered and shook like a leaf in
the wind, when the beating of her heart was audible, when a child
could have seen her distress. There were other moments when all was
ugly, unreal, impossible like things in a nightmare. But when Kells
was near or approached to look at her, like a cat returned to watch
a captive mouse, she was again strong, waiting, with ever a strange
and cold sense of the nearness of that swinging gun. Late in the
night she missed him, for how long she had no idea. She had less
trust in his absence than his presence. The nearer he came to her
the stronger she grew and the clearer of purpose. At last the black
void of canon lost its blackness and turned to gray. Dawn was at
hand. The horrible endless night, in which she had aged from girl to
woman, had passed. Joan had never closed her eyes a single instant.