Meanwhile the cautious footsteps and the low voices died away; and the girl found a bare verandah, chill and silent as a vault in the twilight of early morning. A lamp was burning in the dining-room, but the chairs were pushed back, crusts left, and tea-cups half full. The teapot felt quite heavy; and Moya took a cup and a bite before going to see whether Theodore was awake. If not, she must wake him, for she could not wait. But his room was deserted; his very boots were gone; and the craven heart leapt, for all its resolution.
Moya returned to the verandah in time to see the new chum, Ives, coming at a canter through the pines. She cut him off at the barracks, where, however, he flung himself from the saddle and almost into her arms.
"I beg your pardon, Miss Bethune! Forgotten something as usual, you see!"
Hurry and worry were behind his smile. Yet Moya had the heart to detain him.
"Good morning, Mr. Ives. Where's everybody?"
"Gone mustering."
"Not my brother?"
"No; he's gone with the police."
"The police."
"You know, they've gone to follow up some tracks——"