"Vill this do?" demanded the constable, taking the candle from the lantern, the better to display the narrow limits of the hole. "For the caption!" replied Jackson, coolly drawing a brace of pistols from his pockets. It was empty. His eyes never left her face. Her heart was beating with quite unaccustomed vigour, her hands were hot, she was conscious of a warmth in her blood which the summer sunshine was scarcely responsible for. But they found him on the veranda when they returned from McClintock's that evening. Not much. The young fellow was almost as odd in his way as the girl was in hers.
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