The events of the past twenty-four hours, culminating in the inexplicable attitude of the seamstress, had wrought upon her nerves and the sense of freedom and solitude was grateful, illusive though she knew it to be. No doubt of Miss Pope's good will or sanity came to her, but she wondered what part the faded little creature was called upon to play in the strange scene of which she herself had become a supernumerary.
What crisis had arisen in the mysterious affairs of her new employer and why were her friends, Mme. Cimmino and the man Wolvert, so deeply concerned for her? The voice of the latter over the telephone that morning had revealed a frenzy of emotion which his debonair assurance on the previous evening had utterly belied. Then his impetuous outburst at the moment of her arrival returned to her mind. Who was the mysterious "he?" The frantic telephone message of a few hours before had concerned the same man. Who could he be, and through him what menace threatened the quiet woman with the inscrutable face to whom her services were bound?
So engrossed was Betty in her maze of thought, that she had followed the path unheedingly and only paused when she found her way blocked by a square granite post. She had reached the entrance gates beyond which she might not stray. For a moment she lingered, her eyes turned wistfully down the broad, bleak avenue, a mad, incomprehensible impulse to escape surging up within her, as if tangible bonds held her to her voluntarily assumed duty, and danger lurked for her in the house behind the cedars. The next minute she had turned resolutely and started to retrace her steps.
The early dusk was already descending and Betty quickened her pace lest she prolong the hour of freedom beyond the time allotted her. Midway, the path entered a thick clump of trees, and all at once she became aware of the rapid thud of feet on the snow behind her. Someone was running toward the house.
The thought that she was being pursued flashed into her mind, but she banished it, and turning hastily aside, concealed herself behind a screen of tangled evergreens. Scarcely had she done so, when a man appeared around a turn in the path, and passed her with almost incredible speed.
The single fleeting glimpse she obtained of his gray, set face, however, had sufficed for recognition. It was Wolvert, and some unnameable terror sped with him through the eerie gloom.
Betty shivered and looked blindly about her for another way out of the grove. She dared not enter the house on the heels of this visitor, nor from the same direction in which he had come, lest she seem to have been spying upon him, and she desired above all else to reach her own room unobserved.
At length she discerned a break in the trees at her right and approaching found a second path branching off in a curve which promised to lead around the house. Mrs. Atterbury's warning had passed from her memory and only when the low square bulk of the garage loomed up before her and a rumbling growl assailed her ears, did she remember the presence of the dog.
She hesitated, a new and very tangible fright gripping her, but it was too late to turn back. Even as she paused, the growl changed to a deep, full-throated cry, and a huge shape bounded toward her out of the shadows. To attempt escape would only betray her fear to the brute intelligence and precipitate an attack upon her. Betty knew and understood canine nature and she realized that her safety depended on coolness now.
Motionless, she waited until the dog was almost upon her, and then held out her hand, palm uppermost. The great beast halted in his tracks, his slavering jaws agape and every hair bristling on his neck.