must be going, and silently wringing his friend by the hand he darted silently away.
Stanley’s resting place was an ideal one for concealment. A circle of stunted growth completely masked his bed of moss, and one might pass within two feet of him and not suspect his presence. With a sigh of relief he turned his back towards the rising sun and closed his eyes. He could not tell what aroused him; it could not have been a noise, he dreamily told himself, and yet some influence had jolted him from a dreamless slumber. As his wits cleared he was conscious of a feeling of fear. He remained motionless and sought to interpret it. He had read of people becoming uneasy when stared at by unseen eyes. It was like that, and yet different. He did not feel as if someone were watching him, but he did sense an immediate danger. His inner self had warned him to mount guard against some evil.
It seemed as it must be at his very side and it was with much quaking and apprehension that he slowly turned his head and swept the circuit of his small retreat. He was alone.
He sighed softly in relief and then began to believe that the danger must be just on the other side of the bushes. He even picked out the point from which the evil influence seemed
