several robberies that had taken place some years before, although the
utmost efforts of the police had failed to trace any crime directly
home to them.

"Oh, heavens! Why did I not see that sign last night?" the girl thought,
despairingly, as she trudged along the hard, frosty road. "It would have
saved his life and perhaps my reason."

She sped along faster and faster, for the house was now quite out of
sight. In the distance the way began to wind up-hill, and a stunted,
leafless wood straggled along one side of the highway. Babette was just
considering whether going through it would shorten her journey, when a
woman, dressed in the ordinary peasant costume of the country, emerged
from it and came towards her with quick, firm steps. She was tall and
rather masculine looking. The black Flemish cloak she wore hung round
her in straight, thick folds. She carried a market basket on one arm; a
neat white cloth concealing the eggs and butter that probably lay
underneath.

"Good-day," she said, in thick, guttural tones, as she reached Babette.
"Are you on the way to Brussels?"

Babette made way for her to pass, somewhat shyly.

"Yes," she said, "and I am in haste; but the roads are heavy and I have
my baby to carry."

As she answered, her eyes happened to fall on the stranger's right hand,
which was ungloved and clasping the basket. And as she looked her heart
seemed suddenly to quiver and stand still, for across that strong right