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oved round in the shadow of the shrubbery till he came to the gate； when he was just in time to see the guilty couple disappear into the woods。 He followed them。 He was glad to get on the move again。 While he had been wedged into the bush； quite a lot of the bush had been wedged into him。 Something sharp had pressed against the calf of his leg； and he had been pinched in a number of tender places。 And he was convinced that one more of God's unpleasant creatures had got down the back of his neck。
Dudley Pickering moved through the wood as snakily as he could。 Nature had shaped him more for stability than for snakiness； but he did his best。 He tingled with the excitement of the chase； and endeavoured to creep through the undergrowth like one of those intelligent Indians of whom he had read so many years before in the pages of Mr Fenimore Cooper。 In those days Dudley Pickering had not thought very highly of Fenimore Cooper； holding his work deficient in serious and scientific interest； but now it seemed to him that there had been something in the man after all； and he resolved to get some of his books and go over them again。 He wished he had read them more carefully at the time； for they doubtless contained much information and many hints which would have e in handy just now。 He seemed； for example； to recall characters in them who had the knack of going through forests without letting a single twig crack beneath their feet。 Probably the author had told how this was done。 In his unenlightened state it was beyond Mr Pickering。 The wood seemed carpeted with twigs。 Whenever he stepped he trod on one； and whenever he trod on one it cracked beneath his feet。 There were moments when he felt gloomily that he might just as well be firing a machine…gun。
Bill； meanwhile； Elizabeth following close behind him； was ploughing his way onward。 From time to time he would turn to administer some encouraging remark； for it had e home to him by now that encouraging remarks were what she needed very much in the present crisis of her affairs。 She was showing him a new and hitherto unsuspected side of her character。 The Elizabeth whom he had knownthe valiant； self…reliant Elizabethhad gone； leaving in her stead someone softer； more appealing； more approachable。 It was this that was filling him with strange emotions as he led the way to their destination。
He was being more and more conscious of a sense of being drawn very near to Elizabeth； of a desire to soothe； fort； and protect her。 It was as if to…night he had discovered the missing key to a puzzle or the missing element in some chemical bination。 Like most big men； his mind was essentially a protective mind； weakness drew out the best that was in him。 And it was only to…night that Elizabeth had given any sign of having any weakness in her position。 That clear vision which had e to him on his long walk came again now； that vivid conviction that she was the only girl in the world for him。
He was debating within himself the advisability of trying to find words to express this sentiment； when Mr Pickering； the modern Chingachgook； trod on another twig in the background and Elizabeth stopped abruptly with a little cry。
'What was that？' she demanded。
Bill had heard a noise too。 It was impossible to be within a dozen yards of Mr Pickering； when on the trail； and not hear a noise。 The suspicion that someone was following them did not e to him； for he was a man rather of mon sense than of imagination； and mon sense was asking him bluntly why the deuce anybody should want to tramp after them through a wood at that time of night。 He caught the note of panic in Elizabeth's voice； and was soothing her。
'It was just a branch breaking。 You hear all sorts of rum noises in a wood。'
'I believe it's the man with the pistol following us！'
'Nonsense。 Why should he？ Silly thing to do！' He spoke almost severely。
'Look！' cried Elizabeth。
'What？'
'I saw someone dodge behind that tree。'
'You mustn't let yourself imagine things。 Buck up！'
'I can't buck up。 I'm scared。'
'Which tree did you think you saw someone dodge behind？'
'That big one there。'
'Well； listen： I'll go back and'
'If you leave me for an instant I shall die in agonies。' She gulped。 'I never knew I was such a coward before。 I'm just a worm。'
'Nonsense。 This sort of thing might frighten anyone。 I read a story once'
'Don't！'
Bill found that his heart had suddenly begun to beat with unaccustomed rapidity。 The desire to soothe； fort； and protect Elizabeth became the immediate ambition of his life。 It was very dark where they stood。 The moonlight； which fell in little patches round them； did not penetrate the thicket which they had entered。 He could hardly see her。 He was merely aware of her as a presence。 An excellent idea occurred to him。
'Hold my hand；' he said。
It was what he would have said to a frightened child； and there was much of the frightened child about Elizabeth then。 The Eustace mystery had given her a shock which subsequent events had done nothing to dispel； and she had lost that jauntiness and self…confidence which was her natural armour against the more ordinary happenings of life。
Something small and soft slid gratefully into his palm； and there was silence for a space。 Bill said nothing。 Elizabeth said nothing。 And Mr Pickering had stopped treading on twigs。 The faintest of night breezes ruffled the tree…tops above them。 The moonbeams filtered through the branches。 He held her hand tightly。
'Better？'
'Much。'
The breeze died away。 Not a leaf stirred。 The wood was very still。 Somewhere on a bough a bird moved drowsily 'All right？'
'Yes。'
And then something happenedsomething shattering； disintegrating。 It was only a pheasant； but it sounded like the end of the world。 It rose at their feet with a rattle that filled the universe； and for a moment all was black confusion。 And when that moment had passed it became apparent to Bill that his arm was round Elizabeth； that she was sobbing helplessly； and that he was kissing her。 Somebody was talking very rapidly in a low voice。
He found that it was himself。
'Elizabeth！'
There was something wonderful about the name； a sort of music。 This was odd； because the name； as a name； was far from being a favourite of his。 Until that moment childish associations had prejudiced him against it。 It had been inextricably involved in his mind with an atmosphere of stuffy schoolrooms and general misery； for it had been his misfortune that his budding mind was constitutionally incapable of remembering who had been Queen of England at the time of the Spanish Armadaa fact that had caused a good deal of friction with a rather sharp…tempered governess。 But now it seemed the only possible name for a girl to have； the only label that could even remotely suggest those feminine charms which he found in this girl beside him。 There was poetry in every syllable of it。 It was like one of those deep chords which fill the hearer with vague yearnings for strange and beautiful things。 He asked for nothing better than to stand here repeating it。
'Elizabeth！'
'Bill； dear！'
That sounded good too。 There was music in 'Bill' when properly spoken。 The reason why all the other Bills in the world had got the impression that it was a prosaic sort of name was that there was only one girl in existence capable of speaking it properly； and she was not for them。
'Bill； are you really fond of me？'
'Fond of you！'
She gave a sigh。 'You're so splendid！'
Bill was staggered。 These were strange words。 He had never thought much of himself。 He had always looked on himself as rather a chumpwell…meaning； perhaps； but an awful ass。 It seemed incredible that any oneand Elizabeth of all peoplecould look on him as splendid。
And yet the very fact that she had said it gave it a plausible sort of sound。 It shook his convictions。 Splendid！ Was he？ By Jove； perhaps he was； what？ Rum idea； but it grew on a chap。 Filled with a novel feeling of exaltation； he kissed Elizabeth eleven times in rapid succession。
He felt devilish fit。 He would have liked to run a mile or two and jump a few gates。 He wished five or six starving beggars would e along； it would be pleasan