Miss Cavendish was standing behind the curtains in the window of her room, when Croyden and Macloud came up the walk, at four o’clock.

She was waiting!—not another touch to be given to her attire. Her gown, of shimmering blue silk, clung to her figure with every movement, and fell to the floor in suggestively revealing folds. Her dark hair was arranged in simple fashion—the simplicity of exquisite taste—making the fair face below it, seem fairer even than it was. She was going to win this man.

She heard them enter the lower hall, and pass into the drawing-room. She glided out to the stairway, and stood, peering down over the balustrade. She heard Miss Carrington’s greeting and theirs—heard Macloud’s chuckle, and Croyden’s quiet laugh. Then she heard Macloud say:

“Mr. Croyden is anxious to meet your guest—at least, we took her to be a guest you were driving with this morning.”

“My guest is equally anxious to meet Mr. Croyden,” Miss Carrington replied.

“Why does she tarry, then?” laughed Croyden.

“Did you ever know a woman to be ready?”

“You were.”

“I am the hostess!” she explained. 265

“Mr. Croyden imagined there was something familiar about her,” Macloud remarked.

“Do you mean you recognized her?” Miss Carrington asked.

(Elaine strained her ears to catch his answer.)

“She didn’t let me have the chance to recognize her,” said he—“she wouldn’t let me see her face.”

(Elaine gave a little sigh of relief.)

“Wouldn’t?” Miss Carrington interrogated.

“At least, she didn’t.”

“She couldn’t have covered it completely—she saw you.”

“Don’t raise his hopes too high!” Macloud interjected.

“She can’t—I’m on the pinnacle of expectation, now.”

“Humpty-Dumpty risks a great fall!” Macloud warned.

“Not at all!” said Croyden. “If the guest doesn’t please me, I’m going to talk to Miss Carrington.”

“You’re growing blasÉ,” she warned.

“Is that an evidence of it?” he asked. “If it is, I know one who must be too blasÉ even to move,” with a meaning glance at Macloud.

A light foot-fall on the stairs, the soft swish of skirts in the hallway, Croyden turned, expectantly—and Miss Cavendish entered the room.

There was an instant’s silence. Croyden’s from astonishment; the others’ with watching him. 266

Elaine’s eyes were intent on Croyden’s face—and what she saw there gave her great content: he might not be persuaded, but he loved her, and he would not misunderstand. Her face brightened with a fascinating smile.

“You are surprised to see me, messieurs?” she asked, curtsying low.

Croyden’s eyes turned quickly to his friend, and back again.

“I’m not so sure as to Monsieur Macloud,” he said.

“But for yourself?”

“Surprised is quite too light a word—stunned would but meekly express it.”

“Did neither of you ever hear me mention Miss Carrington?—We were friends, almost chums, at Dobbs Ferry.”

“If I did, it has escaped me?” Croyden smiled.

“Well, you’re likely not to forget it again.”

“Did you know that I—that we were here?”

“Certainly! I knew that you and Colin were both here,” Elaine replied, imperturbably. “Do you think yourself so unimportant as not to be mentioned by Miss Carrington?”

“What will you have to drink, Mr. Croyden?” Davila inquired.

“A sour ball, by all means.”

“Is that a reflection on my guest?” she asked—while Elaine and Macloud laughed.

“A reflection on your guest?” he inflected, puzzled. 267

“You said you would take a sour ball.”

Croyden held up his hands.

“I’m fussed!” he confessed. “I have nothing to plead. A man who mixes a high ball with a sour ball is either rattled or drunk, I am not the latter, therefore——”

“You mean that my coming has rattled you?” Elaine inquired.

“Yes—I’m rattled for very joy.”

She put her hands before her face.

“Spare my blushes, Geoffrey!”

“You could spare a few—and not miss them!” he laughed.

“Davila, am I?” she demanded.

“Are you what?”

“Blushing?”

“Not the slightest, dear.”

“Here’s your sour ball!” said Macloud, handing him the glass.

“Sweetened by your touch, I suppose!”

“No! By the ladies’ presence—God save them!”

“Colin,” said Croyden, as, an hour later, they walked back to Clarendon, “you should have told me.”

“Should have told you what?” Macloud asked.

“Don’t affect ignorance, old man—you knew Elaine was coming.”

“I did—yesterday.”

“And that it was she in the trap.”

“The muff hid her face from me, too.” 268

“But you knew.”

“I could only guess.”

“Do you think it was wise to let her come?” Croyden demanded.

“I had nothing to do with her decision. Miss Carrington asked her, she accepted.”

“Didn’t you give her my address?”

“I most assuredly did not.”

Croyden looked at him, doubtfully.

“I’m telling you the truth,” said Macloud. “She tried to get your address, when I was last in Northumberland, and I refused.”

“And then, she stumbles on it through Davila Carrington! The world is small. I reckon, if I went off into some deserted spot in Africa, it wouldn’t be a month until some fellow I knew, or who knows a mutual friend, would come nosing around, and blow on me.”

“Are you sorry she came?” Macloud asked.

“No! I’m not sorry she came—at least, not now, since she’s here.—I’ll be sorry enough when she goes, however.”

“And you will let her go?”

Croyden nodded. “I must—it’s the only proper thing to do.”

“Proper for whom?”

“For both!”

“Would it not be better that she should decide what is proper for her?”

“Proper for me, then.” 269

“Based on your peculiar notion of relative wealth between husband and wife—without regard to what she may think on the subject. In other words, have you any right to decline the risk, if she is willing to undertake it?”

“The risk is mine, not hers. She has the money. Her income, for three months, about equals my entire fortune.”

“Can’t you forget her fortune?”

“And live at the rate of pretty near two hundred thousand dollars a year?” Croyden laughed. “Could you?”

“I think I could, if I loved the girl.”

“And suffer in your self-respect forever after?”

“There is where we differ. You’re inclined to be hyper-critical. If you play your part, you won’t lose your self-respect.”

“It is a trifle difficult to do—to play my part, when all the world is saying, ‘he married her for her money,’ and shows me scant regard in consequence.”

“Why the devil need you care what the world says!”

“I don’t!”

“What?” Macloud exclaimed.

“I don’t—the world may go hang. But the question is, how long can the man retain the woman’s esteem, with such a handicap.”

“Ah! that is easy! so long as he retains her love.” 270

“Rather an uncertain quantity.”

“It depends entirely on yourself.—If you start with it, you can hold it, if you take the trouble to try.”

“You’re a strong partisan!” Croyden laughed, as they entered Clarendon.

“And what are you?” Macloud returned.

“Just what I should like to know——”

“Well, I’ll tell you what you are if you don’t marry Elaine Cavendish,” Macloud interrupted—“You’re an unmitigated fool!”

“Assuming that Miss Cavendish would marry me.”

“You’re not likely to marry her, otherwise,” retorted Macloud, as he went up the stairs. On the landing he halted and looked down at Croyden in the hall below. “And if you don’t take your chance, the chance she has deliberately offered you by coming to Hampton, you are worse than——” and, with an expressive gesture, he resumed the ascent.

“How do you know she came down here just for that purpose?” Croyden called.

But all that came back in answer, as Macloud went down the hall and into his room, was the whistled air from a popular opera, then running in the Metropolis.

The door slammed—the music ceased. 271

“I won’t believe it,” Croyden reflected, “that Elaine would do anything so utterly unconventional as to seek me out deliberately.... I might have had a chance if—Oh, damn it all! why didn’t we find the old pirate’s box—it would have clarified the whole situation.”

As he changed into his evening clothes, he went over the matter, carefully, and laid out the line of conduct that he intended to follow.

He would that Elaine had stayed away from Hampton. It was putting him to too severe a test—to be with her, to be subject to her alluring loveliness, and, yet, to be unmoved. It is hard to see the luscious fruit within one’s reach and to refrain from even touching it. It grew harder the more he contemplated it....

“It’s no use fighting against it, here!” he exclaimed, going into Macloud’s room, and throwing himself on a chair. “I’m going to cut the whole thing.”

“What the devil are you talking about?” Macloud inquired, pausing with his waistcoat half on.

“What the devil do you think I’m talking about?” Croyden demanded.

“Not being a success at solving riddles, I give it up.”

“Oh, very well!” said Croyden. “Can you comprehend this:—I’m going to leave town?”

“Certainly—that’s plain English. When are you going?” 272

“To-morrow morning.”

“Why this suddenness?”

“To get away quickly—to escape.”

“From Elaine?”

Croyden nodded.

Macloud smiled.

“He is coming to it, at last,” he thought. What he said was:—“You’re not going to be put to flight by a woman?”

“I am.—If I stay here I shall lose.”

“You mean?”

“I shall propose.”

“And be refused?”

“Be accepted.”

“Most people would not call that losing,” said Macloud.

“I have nothing to do with most people—only, with myself.”

“It seems so!—even Elaine isn’t to be considered.”

“Haven’t we gone over all that?”

“I don’t know—but, if we have, go over it again.”

“You assume she came down here solely on my account—because I’m here?”

“I assume nothing,” Macloud answered, with a quiet chuckle. “I said you have a chance, and urged you not to let it slip. I should not have offered any suggestion—I admit that——”

“Oh, bosh!” Croyden interrupted. “Don’t be 273 so humble—you’re rather proud of your interference.”

“I am! Certainly, I am! I’m only sorry it is so unavailing.”

“Who said it was unavailing!”

“You did!—or, at least, I inferred as much.”

“I’m not responsible for your inferences.”

“What are you responsible for?” asked Macloud.

“Nothing! Nothing!—not even for my resolution—I haven’t any—I can’t make any that holds. I’m worse than a weather-cock. Common sense bids me go. Desire clamors for me to stay—to hasten over to Ashburton—to put it to the test. When I get to Ashburton, common sense will be in control. When I come away, desire will tug me back, again—and so on, and so on—and so on.”

“You’re in a bad way!” laughed Macloud. “You need a cock-tail, instead of a weather-cock. Come on! if we are to dine at the Carringtons’ at seven, we would better be moving. Having thrown the blue funk, usual to a man in your position, you’ll now settle down to business.”

“To be or not to be?”

“Let future events determine—take it as it comes,” Macloud urged.

“Sage advice!” returned Croyden mockingly. “If I let future events decide for me, the end’s already fixed.” 274

The big clock on the landing was chiming seven when they rang the bell at Ashburton and the maid ushered them into the drawing-room. Mrs. Carrington was out of town, visiting in an adjoining county, and the Captain had not appeared. He came down stairs a moment later, and took Macloud and Croyden over to the library.

After about a quarter of an hour, he glanced at his watch a trifle impatiently.—Another fifteen minutes, and he glanced at it again.

“Caroline!” he called, as the maid passed the door. “Go up to Miss Davila’s room and tell her it’s half-after-seven.”

Then he continued with the story he was relating.

Presently, the maid returned; the Captain looked at her, interrogatingly.

“Mis’ Davila, she ain’ deah, no seh,” said the girl.

“She is probably in Miss Cavendish’s room,—look, there, for her,” the Captain directed.

“No, seh! I looks dyar—she ain’ no place up stairs, and neither is Mis’ Cav’dish, seh. Hit’s all dark, in dey rooms, seh, all dark.”

“Very singular,” said the Captain. “Half-after-seven, and not here?”

“They were here, two hours ago,” said Croyden. “We had tea with them.”

“Find out from the other servants whether they left any word.” 275

“Dey didn’, seh! no, seh! I ax’d dem, seh!”

“Very singular, indeed! excuse me, sirs, I’ll try to locate them.”

He went to the telephone, and called up the Lashiels, the Tilghmans, the Tayloes, and all their neighbors and intimates, only to receive the same answer: “They were not there, and hadn’t been there that afternoon.”

“This is amazing, sirs!” he exclaimed. “I will go up myself and see.”

“We are at your service, Captain Carrington,” said Macloud instantly.—“At your service for anything we can do.”

“They knew, of course, you were expected for dinner?” he asked, as he led the way upstairs.—“I can’t account for it.”

The Captain inspected his granddaughter’s and Miss Cavendish’s rooms, Macloud and Croyden, being discreet, the rooms on the other side of the house. They discovered nothing which would explain.

“We will have dinner,” said the Captain. “They will surely turn up before we have finished.”

The dinner ended, however, and the missing ones had not returned.

“Might they have gone for a drive?” Macloud suggested.

The Captain shook his head. “The keys of the stable are on my desk, which shows that the horses are in for the night. I admit I am at a 276 loss—however, I reckon they will be in presently, with an explanation and a good laugh at us for being anxious.”

But when nine o’clock came, and then half-after-nine, and still they did not appear, the men grew seriously alarmed.

The Captain had recourse to the telephone again, getting residence after residence, without result. At last he hung up the receiver.

“I don’t know what to make of it,” he said, bewildered. “I’ve called every place I can think of, and I can’t locate them. What can have happened?”

“Let us see how the matter stands,” said Macloud. “We left them here about half-after-five, and, so far as can be ascertained, no one has seen them since. Consequently, they must have gone out for a walk or a drive. A drive is most unlikely, at this time of the day—it is dark and cold. Furthermore, your horses are in the stable, so, if they went, they didn’t go alone—some one drove them. The alternative—a walk—is the probable explanation; and that remits us to an accident as the cause of delay. Which, it seems to me, is the likely explanation.”

“But if there were an accident, they would have been discovered, long since; the walks are not deserted,” the Captain objected.

“Possibly, they went out of the town.”

“A young woman never goes out of town, unescorted,” 277 was the decisive answer. “This is a Southern town, you know.”

“I suppose you don’t care to telephone the police?” asked Croyden.

“No—not yet,” the Captain replied. “Davila would never forgive me, if nothing really were wrong—besides, I couldn’t. The Mayor’s office is closed for the night—we’re not supposed to need the police after six o’clock.”

“Then Croyden and I will patrol the roads, hereabout,” said Macloud.

“Good! I will go out the Queen Street pike a mile or two,” the Captain said. “You and Mr. Croyden can take the King Street pike, North and South. We’ll meet here not later than eleven o’clock. Excuse me a moment——”

“What do you make of it?” said Macloud.

“It is either very serious or else it’s nothing at all. I mean, if anything has happened, it’s far out of the ordinary,” Croyden answered.

“Exactly my idea—though, I confess, I haven’t a notion what the serious side could be. It’s safe to assume that they didn’t go into the country—the hour, alone, would have deterred them, even if the danger from the negro were not present, constantly, in Miss Carrington’s mind. On the other hand, how could anything have happened in the town which would prevent one of them from telephoning, or sending a message, or getting some sort of word to the Captain.” 278

“It’s all very mysterious—yet, I dare say, easy of solution and explanation. There isn’t any danger of the one thing that is really terrifying, so I’m not inclined to be alarmed, unduly—just disquieted.”

At this moment Captain Carrington returned.

“Here! take these,” he said, giving each a revolver. “Let us hope there won’t be any occasion to use them, but it is well to be prepared.”

They went out together—at the intersection of Queen and King Streets, they parted.

“Remember! eleven o’clock at my house,” said the Captain. “If any one of us isn’t there, the other two will know he needs assistance.”

Croyden went north on King Street. It was a chilly November night, with frost in the air. The moon, in its second quarter and about to sink into the waters of the Bay, gave light sufficient to make walking easy, where the useless street lamps did not kill it with their timid brilliancy. He passed the limits of the town, and struck out into the country. It had just struck ten, when they parted—he would walk for half an hour, and then return. He could do three miles—a mile and a half each way—and still be at the Carrington house by eleven. He proceeded along the east side of the road, his eyes busy lest, in the uncertain light, he miss anything which might serve as a clue. For the allotted time, he searched but found nothing—he must return. He crossed to the west side of the road, and faced homeward. 279

A mile passed—a quarter more was added—the feeble lights of the town were gleaming dimly in the fore, when, beside the track, he noticed a small white object.

It was a woman’s handkerchief, and, as he picked it up, a faint odor of violets was clinging to it still. Here might be a clue—there was a monogram on the corner, but he could not distinguish it, in the darkness. He put it in his pocket and hastened on. A hundred feet farther, and his foot hit something soft. He groped about, with his hands, and found—a woman’s glove. It, also, bore the odor of violets.

At the first lamp-post, he stopped and examined the handkerchief—the monogram was plain: E. C.—and violets, he remembered, were her favorite perfume. He took out the glove—a soft, undressed kid affair—but there was no mark on it to help him. He glanced at his watch. His time had almost expired. He pushed the feminine trifles back into his pocket, and hurried on.

He was late, and when he arrived at Ashburton, Captain Carrington and Macloud were just about to start in pursuit.

“I found these!” he said, tossing the glove and the handkerchief on the table—“on the west side of the road, about half a mile from town.”

Macloud picked them up.

“The violets are familiar—and the handkerchief 280 is Elaine’s,” said he. “I recognize the monogram as hers.”

“What do you make of it?” Captain Carrington demanded.

“Nothing—it passes me.”

His glance sought Croyden’s.

A shake of the head was his answer.

The Captain strode to the telephone.

“I’m going to call in our friends,” he said. “I think we shall need them.”