In Her Own Right

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.”

“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.

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.

“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.”

“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?”

“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.”

“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.

“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?”

“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——”

“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.

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.”

“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.

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.”

“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.

“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.”

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.

“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.”

When Croyden and Macloud left the Carrington residence that evening, after their call and tea, Elaine and Davila remained for a little while in the drawing-room rehearsing the events of the day, as women will. Presently, Davila went over to draw the shades.

“What do you say to a walk before we dress for dinner?” she inquired.

“I should like it, immensely,” Elaine answered.

They went upstairs, changed quickly to street attire, and set out.

“We will go down to the centre of the town and back,” said Davila. “It’s about half a mile each way, and there isn’t any danger, so long as you keep in the town. I shouldn’t venture beyond it unescorted, however, even in daylight.”

“Why?” asked Elaine. “Isn’t Hampton orderly?”

“Hampton is orderly enough. It’s the curse that hangs over the South since the Civil War: the negro.”

“Oh! I understand,” said Elaine, shuddering.

“I think I prefer only the lighted streets,” Elaine remarked.

“And you will be perfectly safe there,” Davila replied.

They swung briskly along to the centre of the town—where the two main thoroughfares, King and Queen Streets, met each other in a wide circle that, after the fashion of Southern towns, was known, incongruously enough, as “The Diamond.” Passing around this circle, they retraced their steps toward home.

As they neared Ashburton, an automobile with the top up and side curtains on shot up behind them, hesitated a moment, as though uncertain of its destination and then drew up before the Carrington place. Two men alighted, gave an order to the driver, and went across the pavement to the gate, while the engine throbbed, softly.

Then they seemed to notice the women approaching, and stepping back from the gate, they waited.

“I beg your pardon!” said one, raising his hat and bowing, “can you tell me if this is where Captain Carrington lives?”

“It is,” answered Davila.

“Thank you!” said the man, standing aside to let them pass.

“Captain Carrington, is he at home?”

“I do not know—if you will come in, I’ll inquire.”

“You’re very kind!” with another bow.

He sprang forward and opened the gate. Davila thanked him with a smile, and she and Elaine went in, leaving the strangers to follow.

The next instant, each girl was struggling in the folds of a shawl, which had been flung over her from behind and wrapped securely around her head and arms, smothering her cries to a mere whisper. In a trice, despite their struggles—which, with heads covered and arms held close to their sides, were utterly unavailing—they were caught up, tossed into the tonneau, and the car shot swiftly away.

In a moment, it was clear of the town, the driver “opened her up,” and they sped through the country at thirty miles an hour.

“Better give them some air,” said the leader. “It doesn’t matter how much they yell here.”

He had been holding Elaine on his lap, his arms keeping the shawl tight around her. Now he loosed her, and unwound the folds.

“You will please pardon the liberty we have taken,” he said, as he freed her, “but there are——”

Crack!

“Better be a little careful, Bill!” he said. “I got an upper cut on the jaw that made me see stars.”

“I’ve been very easy with mine,” his companion returned. “She’ll not hand me one.” However, he took care not to loosen the shawl from her arms. “There you are, my lady, I hope you’ve not been greatly inconvenienced.”

“What do you mean by this outrage?” said Davila.

“Don’t forget, Bill!—mum’s the word!” the chief cautioned.

“At least, you can permit us to sit on the floor of the car,” said Elaine. “Whatever may be your scheme, it’s scarcely necessary to hold us in this disgusting position.”

“Will you make no effort to escape?” the chief asked.

“No!”

“I reckon that is a trifle overstated!” he laughed. “What about you, Miss Carrington?”

Davila did not answer—contenting herself with a look, which was far more expressive than words.

“Well, we will take pleasure in honoring your first request, Miss Cavendish.”

“I trust that is satisfactory?” he asked.

“By comparison, eminently so.”

“Thank you!” he said. “Do you, Miss Carrington, wish to sit beside your friend?”

“If you please!” said Davila, with supreme contempt.

He took the rope and tied her, likewise.

“Very good, Bill!” he said, and they placed her beside Elaine.

“If you will permit your legs to be tied, we will gladly let you have the seat——”

“No!——”

“Well, I didn’t think you would—so you will have to remain on the floor; you see, you might be tempted to jump, if we gave you the seat.”

They were running so rapidly, through the night air, that the country could scarcely be distinguished, as it rushed by them. To Elaine, it was an unknown land. Davila, however, was looking for something she could recognize—some building that she knew, some stream, some topographical formation. But in the faint and uncertain moonlight, coupled with the speed at which they travelled, she was baffled. The chief observed, however.

“With your permission!” he said, and taking two handkerchiefs from his pocket, he bound the eyes of both.

Neither Elaine nor Davila condescended to reply.

After a moment’s pause, the man went on:

“I neglected to say—and I apologize for my remissness—that you need fear no ill-treatment. You will be shown every consideration—barring freedom, of course—and all your wants, within the facilities at our command, will be gratified. Naturally, however, you will not be permitted to communicate with your friends.”

“How nice of you!” said Elaine. “But I should be better pleased if you would tell us the reason for this abduction.”

“That, I regret, I am not at liberty to discuss.”

“How long are we to remain prisoners?” demanded Davila.

“It depends.”

“Upon what?”

“Upon whether something is acceded to.”

“By whom?”

“I am not at liberty to say.”

“And if it is not acceded to?” Elaine inquired.

“In that event—it would be necessary to decide what should be done with you.”

“Done with us! What do you mean to imply?”

“Nothing!—the time hasn’t come to imply—I hope it will not come.”

“Why?” said Davila.

“Because is no reason.”

“It is a woman’s reason!” said he, laughing lightly.

“Do you mean that your failure would imperil our lives?”

“Something like it?” he replied, after a moment’s thought.

“Our lives!” Davila cried. “Do you appreciate what you are saying!”

The man did not answer.

“Is it possible you mean to threaten our lives?” Davila persisted.

“I threaten nothing—yet.”

“Oh, you threaten nothing, yet!” she mocked. “But you will threaten, if——”

“Exactly! if—you are at liberty to guess the rest.”

“I don’t care to guess!” she retorted. “Do you appreciate that the whole Eastern Shore will be searching for us by morning—and that, if the least indignity is offered us, your lives won’t be worth a penny?”

“We take the risk, Miss Carrington,” replied the man, placidly.

Davila shrugged her shoulders, and they rode in silence, for half an hour.

“You may descend,” he said, offering his hand.

Elaine saw the hand, and ignored it; Davila refused even to see the hand.

They could make out, in the dim light, that they were before a long, low, frame building, with the waters of the Bay just beyond. A light burned within, and, as they entered, the odor of cooking greeted them.

“Thank goodness! they don’t intend to starve us!” said Elaine. “I suppose it’s scarcely proper in an abducted maiden, but I’m positively famished.”

“I’m too enraged to eat,” said Davila.

“Are you afraid?” Elaine asked.

“Afraid?—not in the least!”

“No more am I—but oughtn’t we be afraid?”

“I don’t know! I’m too angry to know anything.”

They had been halted on the porch, while the chief went in, presumably, to see that all was ready for their reception. Now, he returned.

“If you will come in,” he said, “I will show you to your apartment.”

“Prison, you mean,” said Davila.

“Yes, we shall be ready,” said Elaine, and the man bowed and retired. “He has some manners!” she reflected.

“They might be worse,” Davila retorted.

“Which is some satisfaction,” Elaine added.

“Yes!—and we best be thankful for it.”

“The rooms aren’t so bad,” said Elaine, looking around.

“We each have a bed, and a bureau, and a wash-stand, and a couple of chairs, a few chromos, a rug on the floor—and bars at the window.”

“I noticed the bars,” said Davila.

Elaine crossed to her wash-stand.

“They’ve provided us with water, so we may as well use it,” she said. “I think my face needs—Heavens! what a sight I am!”

“Haven’t you observed the same sight in me?” Davila asked. “I’ve lost all my puffs, I know—and so have you—and your hat is a trifle awry.”

“Since we’re not trying to make an impression, I reckon it doesn’t matter!” laughed Elaine. “We will have ample opportunity to put them to rights before Colin and Geoffrey see us.”

“Now,” she said, going into the other room where Miss Carrington was doing likewise, “if I only had a powder-rag, I’d feel dressed.”

Davila turned, and, taking a little book, from the pocket of her coat, extended it.

“Here is some Papier Poudre,” she said.

“You blessed thing!” Elaine exclaimed, and, tearing out a sheet, she rubbed it over her face. “Is my nose shiny?” she ended.

A door opened and a young girl appeared, wearing apron and cap.

“The ladies are served!” she announced.

The two looked at each other and laughed.

“This is quite some style!” Davila commented.

“It is, indeed!” said Elaine as she saw the table, with its candles and silver (plated, to be sure), dainty china, and pressed glass.

“If the food is in keeping, I think we can get along for a few days. We may as well enjoy it while it lasts.”

Davila smiled. “You always were of a philosophic mind.”

“It’s the easiest way.”

She might have added, that it was the only way she knew—her wealth having made all roads easy to her.

“Better and better!” exclaimed Elaine. “You might think this was a hotel.”

“Until you tried to go out.”

“We haven’t tried, yet—wait until morning.” A pack of cards was on the table. “See how thoughtful they are! Come, I’ll play you Camden for a cent a point.”

“I can’t understand what their move is?” said Davila, presently. “What can they hope to accomplish by abducting us—or me, at any rate. It seems they don’t want anything from us.”

“I make it, that they hope to extort something, from a third party, through us—by holding us prisoners.”

“Captain Carrington has no money—it can’t be he,” said Davila, “and yet, why else should they seize me?”

“The question is, whose hand are they trying to force?” reflected Elaine. “They will hold us until something is acceded to, the man said. Until what is acceded to, and by whom?”

“You think that we are simply the pawns?” asked Davila.

“Undoubtedly!”

“And if it isn’t acceded to, they will kill us?”

“They will doubtless make the threat.”

“Pleasant prospect for us!”

“You would pay what they demand?” Davila asked, quickly.

“If I have to choose between death and paying, I reckon I’ll pay.”

“But can you pay?”

“Yes, I think I can pay,” she said quietly. “I’m not used to boasting my wealth, but I can draw my check for a million, and it will be honored without a moment’s question. Does that make you feel easier, my dear?”

“Considerably easier,” said Davila, with a glad laugh. “I couldn’t draw my check for much more than ten thousand cents. I am only——” She stopped, staring.

“What on earth is the matter, Davila?” Elaine exclaimed.

“I have it!—it’s the thieves!”

“Have you suddenly lost your mind?”

“No! I’ve found it! I’ve come out of my trance. It’s Parmenter’s chest.”

“Parmenter’s chest?” echoed Elaine. “I reckon I must be in a trance, also.”

“Hasn’t Mr. Croyden told you—or Mr. Macloud?”

“No!”

“A what?”

“A fortune in jewels, which Mr. Croyden has searched for and not found—and the thieves think——”

“You would better tell me the story,” said Elaine, pushing back the cards.

And Davila told her....

“It is too absurd!” laughed Elaine, “those rogues trying to force Geoffrey to divide what he hasn’t got, and can’t find, and we abducted to constrain him. He couldn’t comply if he wanted to, poor fellow!”

“But they will never believe it,” said Davila.

“And, meanwhile, we suffer. Well, if we’re not rescued shortly, I can advance the price and buy our freedom. They want half a million. Hum! I reckon two hundred thousand will be sufficient—and, maybe, we can compromise for one hundred thousand. Oh! it’s not so bad, Davila, it’s not so bad!”

She smiled, shrewdly. Unless she were wofully mistaken, this abduction would release her from the embarrassment of declaring herself to Geoffrey. She could handle the matter, now.

“What is it?” asked Davila. “Why are you smiling so queerly?”

“I was thinking of Colin and Geoffrey—and how they are pretty sure to know their minds when this affair is ended.”

“Exactly! I mean, if this doesn’t bring Colin to his senses, he is hopeless.”

“And Mr. Croyden?” Davila queried. “How about him?”

“He will surrender, too. All his theoretical notions of relative wealth will be forgotten. I’ve only to wait for rescue or release. On the whole, Davila, I’m quite satisfied with being abducted. Moreover, it is an experience which doesn’t come to every girl.” She looked at her friend quizzically. “What are you going to do about Colin? I rather think you should have an answer ready; the circumstances are apt to make him rather precipitate.”

The next morning after breakfast, which was served in their rooms, Elaine was looking out through the bars on her window, trying to get some notion of the country, when she saw, what she took to be, the chief abductor approaching. He was a tall, well-dressed man of middle age, with the outward appearance of a gentleman. She looked at him a moment, then rang for the maid.

“I should like to have a word with the man who just came in,” she said.

“I will tell him, Miss.”

He appeared almost immediately, an inquiring look on his face.

“How can I serve you, Miss Cavendish?” he said, deferentially.

“It can be arranged,” he answered. “When do you wish to go?”

“At once!”

“Very good!” he said. “You will have no objection to being attended, to make sure you don’t stray off too far, you know?”

“None whatever, if the attendant remains at a reasonable distance.”

He bowed and stood aside.

“You may come,” he said.

“Is the locality familiar?” Elaine asked, when they were some distance from the house.

Davila shook her head. “It is south of Hampton, I think, but I can’t give any reason for my impression. The car was running very rapidly; we were, I reckon, almost two hours on the way, but we can’t be more than fifty miles away.”

“If they came direct—but if they circled, we could be much less,” Elaine observed.

“It’s a pity we didn’t think to drop something from the car to inform our friends which way to look for us.”

“I rather think so. There is a small wharf, and a board-walk down to the Bay, and the house itself is one story and spread-out, so to speak.”

“Likely it’s a summer club-house, which these men have either rented or preëmpted for our prison.”

“The country around here is surely deserted!” said Davila.

“Hence, a proper choice for our temporary residence.”

“I can’t understand the care they are taking of us—the deference with which we are treated, the food that is given us.”

“Parmenter’s treasure, and the prize they think they’re playing for, has much to do with it. We are of considerable value, according to their idea.”

After a while, they went back to the house. The two men, who had remained out of hearing, but near enough to prevent any attempt to escape, having seen them safely within, disappeared. As they passed through the hall they encountered the chief. He stepped aside.

“You enjoyed your walk, I trust?” he said.

Davila nodded curtly. Elaine stopped.

“I feel sorry for you!” she said, smiling.

“You are very kind,” he replied. “But why?”

“You are incurring considerable expense for nothing.”

He grinned. “It is a very great pleasure, I assure you.”

The man’s face showed his surprise, but he only shrugged his shoulders expressively, and made no reply.

“I know you do not believe it—yet it’s a fact, nevertheless. Mr. Croyden couldn’t pay your demands, if he wished. Of course, we enjoy the experience, but, as I said, it’s a trifle expensive for you.”

The fellow’s grin broadened.

“You’re a good sport!” he said—“a jolly good sport! But we’re dealing with Mr. Croyden and Mr. Macloud, so, you’ll pardon me if I decline to discuss the subject.”