I

N northeastern Sussex a great tongue of land runs into Kent by Scotney Castle. It is a land of woods, the old hammer-woods of the Sussex iron industry, and among the woods gleam the hammer-ponds, holding in their mirrors the sunsets and sunrises. Owing to the thickness of the woods, great masses of oak and beech in a dense undergrowth of hazel and chestnut and frail sallow, the road that passes Mrs. Adis's cottage is dark before the twilight has crept away from the fields beyond. That night there was no twilight moon, only a few pricks of fire in the black sky above the trees. But what the darkness hid, the silence revealed. In the absolute stillness of the night, windless and clear with the first frost of October, every sound was distinct, intensified. The distant bark of a dog at Delmonden sounded close at hand, and the man who walked on the road could hear the echo of his own footsteps following him like a knell.

Every now and then he made a futile effort to go quietly, but the roadside was a mass of brambles, and their cracking and rustling sounded nearly as loud as the thud of his feet on the

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marl. Besides, they made him go slowly, and he had no time for that.

When he came to Mrs. Adis's cottage he paused a moment. Only a small patch of grass lay between it and the road. He went stealthily across it, and looked in at the lighted, uncurtained window. He could see Mrs. Adis stooping over the fire, taking off some pot or kettle. He hesitated and seemed to ponder. He was a big, hulking man, with reddish hair and freckled face, evidently of the laboring class, though not successful, judging by the vague grime and poverty of his appearance. For a moment he made as if he would open the window; then he changed his mind and went to the door instead.

He did not knock, but walked straight in. The woman at the fire turned quickly.

"What, you, Peter Crouch?" she said. "I did n't hear you knock." "I did n't knock, ma'am. I did n't want anybody to hear."

"How's that?"

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“You?”

"Yes, I shot him." "You killed him?” "I dunno."

For a moment there was silence in the small stuffy kitchen; then the kettle boiled over, and Mrs. Adis sprang for it, mechanically putting it at the side of the fire.

She was a small, frail-looking woman, with a brown, hard face on which the skin had dried in innumerable small hair-like wrinkles. She was probably not more than forty-two, but life treats some women hard in the agricultural districts of Sussex, and Mrs. Adis's life had been harder than most.

"What do you want me to do for you, Peter Crouch?" she said a little sourly.

"Let me stay here a bit. Is there nowhere you can put me till they 've gone?"

"Who's they?"

"The keepers."

you than you deserved, and maybe you can stay till he comes home tonight; then we can hear what he says about it."

"That'll serve my turn, I reckon. He'll be up at Ironlatch for an hour yet, and the coast will be clear by then, and I can get away out of the county."

"Where 'll you go?"

“I dunno. There's time to think of that."

"Well, you can think of it in here, she said dryly, opening a door which led from the kitchen into the small lean-to of the cottage. "They'll never guess you 're there, specially if I tell them I ain't seen you to-night.”

"You 're a good woman, Mrs. Adis." She did not speak, but shut the door, and he was in darkness save for a small ray of light that filtered through one of the cracks. By this light he could see her moving to and fro, preparing Tom's supper. In another hour Tom

"Yes, I was down by Cinder Wood seeing if I could pick up anything, and the keepers found me. There was four to one, so I used my gun. Then I ran for it. They 're after me; reckon they are n't far off now."

Mrs. Adis did not speak for a moment.

where he worked every day. Peter Crouch trusted Tom not to revoke his mother's kindness, for they had been friends since they went together to the national school at Lamberhurst, and since then the friendship had not been broken by their very different characters and careers.

Peter Crouch huddled down upon

"You have n't been an over-good friend to Tom," snapped Mrs. Adis. "But Tom's been an unaccountable good friend to me; reckon he would want you to stand by me to-night."

"Well, I won't say he would n't, seeing as Tom always thought better of

A delicious smell of cooking began to filter through from the kitchen, and he hoped Mrs. Adis would not deny him a share of the supper when Tom came home, for he was very hungry and he had a long way to go.

He had fallen into a kind of helpless doze, haunted by the memories of the

last two hours, recast in the form of dreams, when he was roused by the sound of footsteps on the road. For a moment his poor heart nearly choked him with its beating. They were the keepers. They had guessed for a certainty where he was—with Mrs. Adis, his old pal's mother. He had been a fool to come to the cottage. Nearly losing his self-control, he shrank into the corner, shivering, half sobbing. But the footsteps went by. They did not even hesitate at the door. He heard them ring away into the frosty stillness. The next minute Mrs. Adis stuck her head into the lean-to.

"That was them," she said shortly"a party from the castle. I saw them go by. They had lanterns, and I saw old Crotch and the two Boormans. Maybe it 'u'd be better if you slipped out now and went toward Cansiron. You'd miss them that way and get over into Kent. There's a London train comes from Tunbridge Wells at ten to-night."

"That 'u'd be a fine thing for me, ma'am, but I have n't the price of a ticket on me."

this cottage. That's why I'd sooner you went before Tom came back, for maybe he 'd bring a pal with him, and that 'u'd make trouble. I won't say I sha'n't have it on my conscience for having helped you to escape the law, but shooting a keeper ain't the same as shooting an ordinary sort of man, as we all know, and maybe he ain't so much the worse; so I won't think no more about it."

She opened the door for him, but on the threshold they stood still, for again footsteps could be heard approaching, this time from the far south.

"Maybe it 's Tom," said Mrs. Adis. "There's more than one man there, and I can hear voices."

"You'd better go back," she said shortly. "Wait till they 've passed, anyway."

With an unwilling shrug he went back into the little lean-to, which he had come to hate, and she shut the door upon him.

The footsteps drew nearer. They came more slowly and heavily this time. For a moment he thought they also would pass, but their momentary

"Here's seven shillun'. It's all I 've got, but it'll be your fare to London and a bit over."

strip of grass outside the door. The next minute there was a knock. It was not Tom, then.

Trembling with anxiety and curios

the numerous cracks in the door of the

"Oh, you need n't thank me. I am doing it for Tom. I know how unaccountable set he is on you and always was."

kitchen. He saw Mrs. Adis go to the cottage door, but before she could open it, a man came quickly in and shut it behind him.

"There ain't much fear. No one 's ever likely to know you 've been in

his hands and feet grow leaden cold. They knew where he was, then; they had followed him. They had guessed