Fair reached her humble lodgings unmolested, although she could not shake off from her mind the haunting dread of the strange man who had, as she was sure, followed her home, and whom she foreboded must be the detective employed by Prince Gonzaga, although heretofore she had doubted his existence.

“He is on my track. He has perhaps penetrated my disguise. Oh, what shall I do now?” she thought, in wild alarm, as she closed and locked the door and sat down to think.

Knowing her husband as well as she did, she knew he would pursue her unrelentingly if he became aware of her whereabouts. At any moment he might break in upon her solitude and claim her for his wife, defying the whole world to wrest her from him.

She grew sick with fear and terror, and began to think wildly of escape.

“If I could only get to my old friend Sadie, she would help me to elude him,” she murmured, as she paced wildly up and down the room. “But no doubt this house is watched, and were I to go out I might be caught in his trap at once. Oh!”

A clever thought had come to her all at once.

She might disguise herself as a boy, and so venture into the street and seek the home of Sadie.

In her trunk was a boy’s suit, which she had bought in England when the thought of assuming a disguise first occurred to her; afterward she had decided not to use it, fearing she might be detected and arrested.

But now, in her fear of Prince Gonzaga, she determined to run the risk of the boy’s apparel, and very soon Widow Karrick’s costume lay upon the floor, and a youth with curly black hair, a mustache, and cane, stood before the mirror, topping off the checked suit with a very English-looking hat.

Peering from the window, she saw that the friendly mask of night was beginning to fall, and she flitted down the stairs to the street, stepping out with a bold stride that belied the frightened throbbing of her heart.

If the man was still watching, he was deceived by the youthful, boyish figure, and paid no heed to it, so Fair walked very fast until she believed herself safe, then took a taxicab, in which she accomplished the remainder of her journey to the address which Mrs. Jones had given Bayard Lorraine as the home of Sadie Allen, or Mrs. Osborne, as she was now.

She felt a little nervous over the thought of Sadie’s husband, who had once been her own admirer, and who might very likely not feel very kindly disposed toward the girl who had snubbed him so cruelly.

“I must rely on Sadie to make my peace with him,” she thought, as she went up the steps of the house where Waverley Osborne had rented several rooms over a small grocery store.

The grocer had told her where to go, and added that Mrs. Osborne was in, but her husband had just gone out to a workingmen’s meeting.

“So much the better. I shall have dear Sadie all to myself at first,” thought Fair.

She rapped loudly on the door of Sadie’s sitting room, and in a minute more it was opened by her friend in person.

“I wish to see Mrs. Osborne, madam. I have a message for her from a lady,” said Fair, and Sadie invited her into the neat sitting room, where her little boy was toddling about the floor with a pet kitten in his arms.

“Take a seat, sir,” Sadie began politely, then stopped and stared.

Her visitor had pulled off a mustache and a black wig at one and the same moment, revealing a girl’s fair face crowned with short curls of shining red-gold hair.

“Darling Sadie, don’t you know your poor little Fair?” cried out a familiar voice.

When Waverley Osborne came home that night it was quite late, but he found Sadie sitting up for him, with supper ready. Her eyes were shining brightly, and her whole appearance was indicative of suppressed excitement.

“What is it, my dear?” the young husband asked, smiling, and then the whole story came out. She had found Fair—or, rather, Fair had found her.

“Only think of her passing you every day, and your not knowing her!” she exclaimed.

“That could not have been!” he replied. “I should have known Fairfax Fielding anywhere.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me that she was at the factory at work?” demanded Mrs. Osborne saucily.

“Because she was not there!” he replied positively.

“Then you never saw Widow Karrick?” she laughed.

He started, and gazed at her in wonder as he exclaimed:

“That rusty little English widow? Impossible!”

“Not at all!” cried Sadie, enjoying his surprise very much.

And as she filled his cup again, she added:

“If you had seen a very handsome young man calling on me this evening after you went away, you would have said ‘impossible’ then; but you would have been mistaken, for Widow Karrick was Fair Fielding, and the handsome young man was Fair Fielding. What have you to say to that, sir?”

And after she had enjoyed his astonishment long enough, she told him without reserve the whole of Fair’s story as she had just heard it from the lips of her friend.

She ended by saying:

“She came to me in her trouble, although she is half afraid to meet you, Waverley, on account of old times, when she was rather rude to you, you know. But I don’t think you bear her any grudge, do you?”

“Bless her, no!” cried Waverley Osborne heartily, although his face flushed slightly as he thought of the days when Fair’s bewitching beauty had made of him such a simpleton.

“I’m glad you don’t,” said his wife, “because we are her only friends, she says, and I’ve kept her with me. She has the little spare room that I fixed in case my sister should ever visit me.”

“She’s welcome to it,” said Waverley Osborne heartily. He was so fond of his good-hearted, sensible little wife that the last resentment against beautiful Fair had died long ago. Sadie had saved all the money Fair had sent to her from Italy, in care of the factory owners, and now Fair could have that money to live on.

“She is very lucky that she does not have to go back to the factory,” said Osborne. “Do you know, I’m thinking of quitting there myself?”

“But why?” exclaimed his wife, in wonder.

“Only for this reason: The building was condemned by an inspector this week, and the firm has been notified to quit the house. They purpose to do so next week, and have already negotiated for another building. But in the meantime every man or woman who enters that house takes their life in their hand, for who knows at what moment the old and unsafe structure may give way and fall?”

Sadie shuddered and clung to him, entreating him not to return to the doomed building.

“I should not know one peaceful moment if you went back,” she declared.

“I should not have told you; I did not mean to tell you,” said her husband.

“It was my right to know,” Sadie answered, adding anxiously: “You will not go back, Waverley? To-morrow you will write a note and ask to be excused from service until after they move to the new building.”

He was silent a moment, as if weighing her words, then said:

“That is a good idea, Sadie—that of excusing myself, I mean. But, on the whole, I do not think I will send a note. I will just call around there in the morning and see the boss. I can explain more fully, and perhaps get leave without giving offense. I do not wish to lose my place, you know. It is a good one, and the salary is fair.”

“But I would rather you would send the note. I cannot bear the idea of your ever stepping over that threshold again,” exclaimed Sadie fearfully.

Manlike, he laughed at her womanly fears.

“I must go, for I do not like to lose my place, but I shall not stay more than ten minutes,” he said.

“Mind, Waverley, that you don’t let slip a word about Fair being here, for no one is to know,” admonished Sadie.

“Not even Mrs. Howard?” he questioned, in surprise.

“No; for Fair thinks it is better so. She declares she will not drag that good woman into her trouble with that wretch.”

“And Bayard Lorraine?”

“He is not to know, either. Fair thinks there is no need. She declared that she will leave New York soon and go South or West, and that next time she will hide herself so cleverly that no detective can get upon her track again.”