Next morning, they dressed hurriedly, reproaching themselves that they had slept so late.

“What’s to be done?” cried poor Miss Campbell, half distracted as she rushed about her room. “Shall we telegraph her father?”

“How do we know he hasn’t kidnapped her?” suggested Mary.

“Suppose we telegraph Mr. Moore?” said Elinor.

“But where is Mr. Moore? He has never written a line in answer to our letters. That’s why I am uneasy. That poor girl was growing more unhappy every day.”

“Shall we notify the police of Sacramento, then?” put in Billie.

“That would be a good idea, but we must see Pasquale first. Send him up here at once, Billie,” called Miss Campbell as the young girl departed, pinning on her hat as she ran down the narrow steps outside.

A hundred conjectures flashed through their minds as they hastened to get into their clothes. Could Evelyn have done anything rash and foolish? But Miss Campbell felt sure the girl was much too thoughtful and unselfish to have involved them in a trouble of that sort. No, it was that Stone man, her father, who had spirited her away.

Pasquale appeared at the door. His face was an impenetrable mask, through which his small eyes twinkled like the eyes of an animal.

“Pasquale,” cried Miss Campbell, “what are we to do? Where has the young lady gone? Have your men really brought no news whatever?”

“No news, Signora,” he replied, rubbing his hands.

“Don’t stand there blinking at me,” she cried. “Tell me what I must do. Is there no telegraph station up here?”

“No, Signora, but breakfast, ita is served, Signora.”

“Breakfast! Don’t talk to me about breakfast when I’m half distracted. Have some coffee ready and send around the motor car. We will start at once for Sacramento or some town where we can telegraph.”

“The Signora will pleasea have breakfast,” continued the imperturbable Italian.

Miss Campbell was tying on her blue veil ready to leave the instant they had swallowed their coffee.

“Have the bags carried down,” she cried, “and strapped on the car.”

“The Signora willa be pleased with breakfast. It is Americana breakfast, made specialmente for Signora and the young ladies—the chicken broila—Signora.”

“The man will drive me mad,” cried Miss Campbell rushing down stairs with veils flying, her hand bag in one hand, her coat in the other, followed by the girls who had been struggling to pack their suitcases and get away as soon as possible.

At the bottom of the steps, they met Lucia, smiling and fresh in spite of her dissipations of the day before.

“The ladies will please enter for breakfast,” she said.

Back of them came Pasquale without any suitcase at all.

“On the terrace, Signora. Ah, the terrace, it is bella, bella, in the morning. Sacremen—you will see her on a clear day. Ah, madama, I entreata you to step forth on the terrace.”

Pasquale and Lucia stood in the most theatrical attitudes imaginable, their hands outstretched, exactly like two opera singers when they had reached the closing notes of a grand duetto.

“Ah, Signora, thisa gooda breakfast,—chicken broila—questa bella vista—”

“Good heavens, the man is mad. They are both perfectly mad,” cried poor Miss Campbell rushing to the terrace and almost into the arms of—Oh, horror of horrors! Oh, unspeakable disgrace! John James Stone, who actually held her imprisoned in his iron embrace and looked down into her face with an expression so tender that Nancy and Mary were obliged to retire into the hall for a moment where they fell on each other’s necks and laughed immoderately.

“Release me, sir! How dare you?” cried the excited little woman, looking around to see if anyone else had been a witness of this disgraceful encounter.

There was, indeed, quite an audience. Daniel Moore, leaning on a cane, his other arm clasped in Evelyn’s, stood close at hand; also the four Motor Maids, Pasquale chuckling with joy and Lucia smiling broadly.

“Evelyn, my dear, you have given us such a fright. Where did you come from,” exclaimed Miss Campbell, almost in hysterics. “And Daniel Moore, too.”

“It’s a good ending to what might have been a very tragic affair, Miss Campbell,” replied Daniel. “Evelyn was kidnapped last night by Ebenezer Stone but as luck would have it, Mr. Stone and I were making the trip from Sacramento to catch you here and we met them on the road last night. They had an accident, in fact, and stopped our car for assistance without knowing whom we were. Unfortunately, I couldn’t fight that scoundrel, Ebenezer,” he continued, clenching his fist and growing very white.

“Have you been ill?”

“He has been very ill,” put in Evelyn, clasping his arm and leaning on him.

“Too ill even to know that Evelyn was not married,” went on Daniel. “That little wretch of a mare when she dragged me around by my leg, injured my hip. I owe my life to Miss Billie, and I ought to be thankful that the injury was no worse. The worry about Evelyn and the arrest in Salt Lake City precipitated matters, I suppose and I have been in the hospital ever since, until the day before yesterday. It didn’t seem to matter much with Evelyn married to that—to that——”

“Never mind,” said Evelyn soothingly. “Father and I never really did like him. Did we father?”

This was rather straining a point but Mr. John James Stone was quite equal to it. The truth is the stony old Mormon had suffered a change of heart.

“Ebenezer is a cold blooded scoundrel,” he observed in a tone of conviction which brought covert smiles even to the lips of his long suffering daughter.

“But, please, tell me quickly how you and Mr. Stone came to meet?” demanded Miss Campbell, the answer of which question they were all burning to know.

Mr. Stone cast upon the charming little spinster a glance so melting that it was impossible for the Motor Maids to keep from laughing.

“They have you to thank for that, Miss Campbell,” replied the big man. “I am completely won over, I assure you, madam. A charming woman is the most powerful influence in the world.”

An expression of amazement passed over the spinster’s face, followed almost immediately by one of intense amusement and embarrassment. There was a strained silence. Then Pasquale, clearing his throat several times significantly, announced breakfast.

In spite of the fatigue and nervous strain of the past six hours, everybody was hungry and Evelyn Stone was the most joyous member of the breakfast party. The shadow which had darkened her entire young life was dispelled. She had never dreamed that hidden deep somewhere behind that granite exterior her father had a real flesh and blood heart.

It was Miss Campbell who had discovered it and it was Miss Campbell who must now pay the penalty of her discovery.

No one ever knew exactly what conversation passed between her and the Mormon gentleman on the terrace that morning after breakfast. But they guessed that the little spinster had received a declaration of love and an offer of marriage. At any rate, half an hour later, she shut herself into her room and refused to appear again until dinner time.

As for Mr. Stone, he took an automobile ride with the Motor Maids and made himself most agreeable. On the way home, he bought everything he could find in the way of fruit and flowers for the little lady who had touched his heart. He was as frankly and openly in love as a boy, and love which comes to those past fifty is of an extremely poignant nature.

But Miss Campbell had no intention of wedding even a reformed Mormon and settling in Salt Lake City.

“Never again will I enter that hateful place except in chains as a prisoner,” she had repeated many times, and her old lover, whose youth had been renewed like the eagle’s and whose character had been strangely transformed, entreated in vain.