Somehow this seemed to renew her courage. Slowly she got hold of herself again; and again she fought down her terror, quelling it little by little, pushing it inch by inch out of her mind. Once more the eyes vanished, and once more they reappeared still farther to the left. Then, while she watched them, fascinated, they faded from view and she saw them no more.
A faintness came upon her. She held tightly to her grapevine swing to save herself from falling; and she was still sitting there, her eyes half-closed, when Lachlan's voice spoke close behind her.
"Mam'selle?"
She rose and stood on her feet, swaying a little.
"There were eyes," she told him. "Great pale eyes which watched me from the darkness yonder."
He glanced at her sharply, then strode across the glade in the direction that she had indicated, vanishing in the blackness under the live-oak where the eyes had been. In a moment he reappeared.
"It was a panther," he said quietly. "Its scent is strong on the still air. Were you afraid?"
She was herself again now—apparently as cool and contained as though her ordeal had been all a dream.
"Not I," she lied glibly, knowing that she lied, yet feeling that it was not all a lie. "Did I not tell you that I did not fear your wilderness? And did I not tell Almayne that I would teach him much that he does not know about women?"
Lachlan stood silent a moment.
