“Welcome once more, Mr. Wilton,” said Mrs. Doddridge Knapp, holding out her hand. “Were you going to neglect us again?”

“Not at all, madam,” said I with unblushing mendacity. “I am always at your command.”

Mrs. Knapp bowed with regal condescension, and replied with such intimations of good will that I was glad I had come. I had vowed I would never set foot again in the place. The hot blood of shame had burned my cheeks whenever I recalled my dismissal from the lips of the daughter of the house. But I had received a letter from Mrs. Bowser, setting forth that I was wanted at the house of Doddridge Knapp, and her prolixity was such that I was unable to determine whether she, or Mrs. Knapp, or Luella, wished to see me. But as all three appeared to be concerned in it I pocketed pride and resentment, and made my bow with some nervous quavers at the Pine Street palace.

As I was speaking I cast my eyes furtively about the room. Mrs. Knapp interpreted my glance.

“She will be in presently.” There was to my ear a trace of mocking laughter in her voice as she spoke, but her face betokened only a courteous interest.

“Thanks—I hope so,” I said in a little confusion. I wished I knew whether she meant Luella or Mrs. Bowser.

“You got the note?” she asked.

“It was a great pleasure.”

“Mrs. Bowser wished so much to see you again. She has been singing your praises—you were such an agreeable young man.”

I cursed Mrs. Bowser in my heart.

“I am most flattered,” I said politely.

There was a mischievous sparkle in Mrs. Knapp's eye, but her face was serenely gracious.

“I believe there was some arrangement between you about a trip to see the sights of Chinatown. Mrs. Bowser was quite worried for fear you had forgotten it, so I gave her your address and told her to write you a note.”

I had not been conscious of expecting anything from my visit, but at this bit of information I found that I had been building air-castles which had been invisible till they came tumbling about my ears. I could not look for Miss Knapp's company on such an expedition.

“Oh,” said I, with an attempt to conceal my disappointment, “the matter had slipped my mind. I shall be most happy to attend Mrs. Bowser, or to see that she has a proper escort.”

We had been walking about the room during this conversation, and at this point had come to an alcove where Mrs. Knapp motioned me to a seat.

“I may not get a chance to talk with you alone again this evening,” she continued, dropping her half-bantering tone, “and you come so little now. What are you doing?”

“Keeping out of mischief.”

“Yes, but how?” she persisted. “You used to tell me everything. Now you tell me nothing.”

“Mr. Knapp's work—” I began.

“Oh, of course I don't expect you to tell me about that. I know Mr. Knapp, and you're as close-mouthed as he, even when he's away.”

“I should tell you anything of my own, but, of course, another's—”

“I understand.” Mrs. Knapp, sitting with hands clasped in her lap, gave me a quick look. “But there was something else. You were telling me about your adventures, you remember. You told me two or three weeks ago about the way you tricked Darby Meeker and sent him to Sierra City.” And she smiled at the recollection of Darby Meeker's discomfiture.

“Oh, yes,” I said, with a laugh that sounded distressingly hollow to my ears. “That was a capital joke on Meeker.”

Here was a fine pack of predicaments loosed on my trail. It was with an effort that I kept my countenance, and the cold sweat started on my forehead. How much had Henry told of his business? Had he touched on it lightly, humorously, or had he given a full account of his adventures to the wife of the man with whose secrets he was concerned, and whose evil plans had brought him to his death? The questions flashed through my mind in the instant that followed Mrs. Knapp's speech.

“How did it turn out?” asked Mrs. Knapp with lively interest. “Did he get back?”

I decided promptly on a judicious amount of the truth.

“Yes, he got back, boiling with wrath, and loaded to the guards with threats—that is, I heard so from my men. I didn't see him myself, or you might have found the rest of it in the newspaper.”

“What did he do? Tell me about it.” Mrs. Knapp gave every evidence of absorbed interest.

“Well, he laid a trap for me at Borton's, put Terrill in as advance guard, and raised blue murder about the place.” And then I went on to give a carefully amended account of my first night's row at Borton's, and with an occasional question, Mrs. Knapp had soon extorted from me a fairly full account of my doings.

“It is dreadful for you to expose yourself to such dangers.”

I was privately of her opinion.

“Oh, that's nothing,” said I airily. “A man may be killed any day by a brick falling from a building, or by slipping on an orange peel on the crossing.”

“But it is dreadful to court death so. Yet,” she mused, “if I were a man I could envy you your work. There is romance and life in it, as well as danger. You are doing in the nineteenth century and in the midst of civilization what your forefathers may have done in the days of chivalry.”

“It is a fine life,” I said dryly. “But it has its drawbacks.”

“But while you live no one can harm the child,” she said. There was inquiry in her tone, I thought.

I suppressed a start of surprise. I had avoided mention of the boy. Henry had trusted Mrs. Knapp further than I had dreamed.

“He shall never be given up by me,” I replied with conviction.

“That is spoken like a true, brave man,” said Mrs. Knapp with an admiring look.

“Thank you,” I said modestly.

“Another life than yours depends on your skill and courage. That must give you strength,” she said softly.

“It does indeed,” I replied. I was thinking of Doddridge Knapp's life.

“But here come Luella and Mrs. Bowser,” said Mrs. Knapp. “I see I shall lose your company.”

My heart gave a great bound, and I turned to see the queenly grace of Luella Knapp as she entered the room in the train of Mrs. Bowser.

Vows of justice and vengeance, visions of danger and death, faded away as I looked once more on the mobile, expressive face of the girl who had claimed so great a share of my waking thoughts and filled my dreams from the first moment her spirit had flashed on mine. I rose and my eyes followed her eagerly as I stood by the curtain of the alcove, oblivious of all else in the room.

Was it fancy, or had she grown paler and thinner since I had last seen her? Surely those dark hollows under her eyes that told of worry and lost sleep were not there when her brightness had chained my admiration. I could guess that she was grieving for Henry, and a jealous pang shot through my heart. She gave no glance in my direction as she walked into the room and looked about her. I dreaded her eye as I hungered for a look.

“Luella!” called Mrs. Knapp. I fancied she gave a low, musical laugh as she spoke, yet a glance showed me that her face was calm and serious. “Luella, here is some one you will like to see.”

Luella Knapp turned and advanced. What was the look that lighted up her face and sparkled from her eyes? Before I could analyze the magnetic thrill that came from it, it was gone. A flush passed over her face and died away as she came.

“You honor our poor house once more?” she said, dropping a mock courtesy. “I thought you had deserted us.”

I was surprised at this line of attack, and for a moment my little army of ideas was thrown into confusion. I felt, rather than heard, the undertone that carried the real meaning of her words.

“Not I,” said I stoutly, recovering myself, and holding out my hand. I saw there was a little play to be carried on for the benefit of Mrs. Knapp. For some reason she had not confided in her mother. “Not I. I am always your very humble knight.”

I saw that Mrs. Knapp was looking at us curiously, and pressed my advantage. Luella took my hand unwillingly. I was ready to dare a good deal for the clasp of her fingers, but I scarcely felt the thrill of their touch before she had snatched them away.

“There's nothing but pretty speeches to be had from you—and quotations at that,” she said. There was malice under the seeming innocence of a pretended pout.

“There's nothing that could be so becoming in the circumstances.”

“Except common sense,” frowned Luella.

“The most uncommon of qualities, my dear,” laughed Mrs. Knapp. “Sit down, children. I must see to Mr. Carter, who is lost by the portiÈre and will never be discovered unless I rescue him.”

“Take him to dear Aunt Julia,” said Luella as her mother left us.

“Dear Aunt Julia,” I inferred, was Mrs. Bowser.

I was certain that Mr. Carter would not find the demands of conversation too much for him if he was blest with the company of that charming dame.

Luella took a seat, and I followed her example. Then, with chin in hand and elbow on the arm of her chair, the young woman looked at me calmly and thoughtfully.

I grew a little uncomfortable as my self-possession melted away before this steady gaze. I had no observations to make, being uncertain about the weather, so I had the prudence to keep silent.

“Well,” said Luella at last, in a cutting voice, “why don't you talk?”

“It's your lead,” said I gloomily. “You took the last trick.”

At this reference to our meeting, Luella looked surprised. Then she gave a little rippling laugh.

“Really,” she said, “I believe I shall begin to like you, yet.”

“That's very kind of you; but turn about is fair play.”

“You mustn't do that,” said she severely, “or I shan't.”

“I meant it,” said I defiantly.

“Then you ought to know better than to say it,” she retorted.

“I'm in need of lessons, I fear.”

“How delightful of you to confess it! Then shall I tell you what to do?”

This was very charming. I hastened to say:

“Do, by all means.”

The young woman sank back in her chair, clasped her hands in her lap as her mother had done, and glanced hastily about. Then in a low voice she said:

“Be yourself.”

It was an electric shock she gave me, not more by the words than by the tone.

I struggled for a moment before I regained my mental balance.

“Don't you think we could get on safer ground?” I suggested.

“No,” said Luella. “There isn't any safe ground for us otherwise.”

The sudden heart-sickness at the reminder of my mission with which these words overwhelmed me, tied my tongue and mastered my spirits. It was this girl's father that I was pursuing. It was to bring him to the halter that I must keep up my masquerade. It was to bring her to sorrow and disgrace that I was bound by the dead hand of my murdered friend. Oh, why was this burden laid upon me? Why was I to be torn on the rack between inclination and duty?

Luella watched my face narrowly through the conflict in my mind, and I felt as though her spirit struggled with mine to win me to the course of open, honest dealing. But it was impossible. She must be the last of all to know.

Her eyes sank as though she knew which had won the victory, and a proud, scornful look took the place of the grave good humor that had been there a moment before. Then, on a sudden, she began to speak of the theaters, rides, drives and what-not of the pleasures of the day. To an observer it would have seemed that we were deep in friendly discourse; but I, who felt her tone and manner, knew that she was miles away from me and talking but for the appearance of courtesy. Suddenly she stopped with a weary look.

“There's Aunt Julia waiting for you,” she said with a gleam of malicious pleasure. “Come along. I deliver you over a prisoner of war.”

“Wait a minute,” I pleaded.

“No,” she said, imperiously motioning me. “Come along.” And with a sigh I was given, a helpless, but silently protesting, captive, to the mercies of Mrs. Bowser.

That eloquent lady received me with a flutter of feathers, if I may borrow the expression, to indicate her pleasure.

“Oh, Mr. Wilton, you'll pardon my boldness, I'm sure,” she said with an amiable flirt of the head, as I seated myself beside her and watched Luella melt away into the next room; “but I was afraid you had forgotten all about us poor women, and it's a dreadful thing to be in this great house when there isn't a man about, though of course there are the servants, but you can't count them as men, besides some of them being Chinamen. And we—I—that is, I really did want to see you, and we ought to have so much to talk over, for I've heard that your mother's first cousin was a Bowser, and I do so want to see that dear, delightful Chinatown that I've heard so much about, though they do say it's horrid and dirty, but you'll let us see that for ourselves, won't you, and did you ever go through Chinatown, Mr. Wilton?”

Mrs. Bowser pulled up her verbal coach-and-six so suddenly that I felt as though she must have been pitched off the box.

“Oh,” said I carelessly, “I've seen the place often enough.”

“How nice!” Then suddenly looking grave, Mrs. Bowser spoke from behind her fan. “But I hope, Mr. Wilton, there's nothing there that a lady shouldn't see.”

I hastened to assure her that it was possible to avoid everything that would bring a blush to the cheek of a matron of her years.

Mrs. Bowser at this rattled on without coming to any point, and, after waiting to learn when she expected to claim my services, and seeing no prospect of getting such information without a direct question, I allowed my eyes and attention to wander about the room, feeding the flow of speech, when it was checked, with a word or two of reply. I could see nothing of Luella, and Mrs. Knapp appeared to be too much taken up with other guests to notice me. I was listening to the flow of Mrs. Bowser's high-pitched voice without getting any idea from it, when my wandering attention was suddenly recalled by the words, “Mr. Knapp.”

“What was that?” I asked in some confusion. “I didn't catch your meaning.”

“I was saying I thought it strange Mr. Knapp wouldn't go with us, and he got awfully cross when I pressed him, and said—oh, Mr. Wilton, he said such a dreadful word—that he'd be everlastingly somethinged if he would ever go into such a lot of dens of—oh, I can't repeat his dreadful language—but wasn't it strange, Mr. Wilton?”

“Very,” I said diplomatically; “but it isn't worth while to wait for him, then.”

“Oh, laws, no!—he'll be home to-morrow, but he won't go.”

“Home to-morrow!” I exclaimed. “I thought he wasn't to come till Wednesday.”

Mrs. Bowser looked a little uncomfortable.

“I guess he's old enough to come and go when he likes,” she said. But her flow of words seemed to desert her.

“Very true,” I admitted. “I wonder what's bringing him back in such a hurry.”

Mrs. Bowser's beady eyes turned on me in doubt, and for a moment she was dumb. Then she followed this miracle by another, and spoke in a low tone of voice.

“It's not for me to say anything against a man in his own house, but I don't like to talk of Doddridge Knapp.”

“What's the matter?” I asked. “A little rough in his speech? Oh, Mrs. Bowser, you should make allowances for a man who has had to fight his way in the roughest business life in the world, and not expect too much of his polish.”

“Oh, laws, he's polite enough,” whispered Mrs. Bowser. “It ain't that—oh, I don't see how she ever married him.”

I followed the glance that Mrs. Bowser gave on interrupting herself with this declaration, and saw Mrs. Knapp approaching us.

“Oh,” she exclaimed cheerily, “is it all settled? Have you made all the arrangements, Cousin Julia?”

“Well, I declare! I'd forgotten all about telling him,” cried Mrs. Bowser in her shrillest tone. “I'd just taken it for a fact that he'd know when to come.”

“That's a little too much to expect, I'm afraid,” said Mrs. Knapp, smiling gaily at Mrs. Bowser's management. “I see that I shall have to arrange this thing myself. Will Monday night suit you, Henry?”

“As well as another,” said I politely, concealing my feelings as a victim of feminine diplomacy.

“You have told him who are going, haven't you?” said Mrs. Knapp to Mrs. Bowser.

“Laws, no! I never thought but what he knew.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Mrs. Knapp. “What a gift as a mind-reader Mr. Wilton ought to have! Well, I suppose I'd better not trust to that, Henry. There's to be Mrs. Bowser, of course, and Mr. and Mrs. Carter, and Mr. Horton, and—oh, yes—Luella.”

My heart gave a jump, and the trip to Chinatown suddenly became an object of interest.

“I, mama?” said an inquiring voice, and Luella herself stood by her mother.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Knapp. “It's the Chinatown expedition for Monday night.”

Luella looked annoyed, and tapped her foot to the floor impatiently.

“With Mr. Wilton,” there was the slightest emphasis on the words, “to accompany the party, I shouldn't think it would be necessary for me to go.”

“It is either you or I,” said Mrs. Knapp.

“You will be needed to protect Mr. Horton,” said I sarcastically.

“Oh, what a task!” she said gaily. “I shall be ready.” And she turned away before I could put in another word, and I walked down the room with Mrs. Knapp.

“And so Mr. Knapp is coming home to-morrow?” I said.

Mrs. Knapp gave me a quick look.

“Yes,” she said. There was something in her tone that set me to thinking that there was more than I knew behind Mr. Knapp's sudden return.

“I hope he is not ill,” I said politely.

Mrs. Knapp appeared to be considering some point deeply, and did not answer for a little. Then she shook her head as though the idea was not to her liking.

“I think you will find him all right when you see him. But here—you must meet Mr. and Mrs. Carter. They are just from the East, and very charming people, and as you are to do them the honors on Monday evening, you should know them.”

Mr. and Mrs. Carter had pleasant faces and few ideas, and as the conversational fire soon burned low I sought Mrs. Knapp and took my leave. Luella was nowhere to be seen.

“You must be sure that you are well-guarded,” said Mrs. Knapp. “It quite gives me the terrors to think of those murderous fellows. And since you told me of that last plot to call you down to Borton's, I have a presentiment that some special danger is ahead of you. Be cautious as well as brave.”

She had followed me into the hall, and spoke her warning freely. There was a sadness in her eyes that seemed as though she would dissuade me from my task.

I thanked her as she pressed my hand, and, with no Luella awaiting me by the stair, I took my way down the stone steps, between the bronze lions, and joined Porter and Barkhouse on the sidewalk.