Jean's face fell, and she spoke coldly. "What train do you take?" "The twelve forty-five, and I haven't a moment to spare. It must be noon now." "It is. The village clock struck as I came in." "Oh, dear! Put those things in the valise, Jean, won't you, while I hunt for my hat and gloves. The carriage will be at the door in five minutes." Jean complied, and, as she was making room for the last few articles in the already crowded valise, Helen came and stood beside her. "Dearie," she said, as she drew on her gloves, "will you please be very attentive to Aunt Helen while I am away, and not leave her too much alone? And, oh, Jean, do look after the children. Don't have them off your mind for a moment. I am always so afraid that something will happen to them when I am not here." Jean laughed cheerily. "That is nonsense, Helen. Why in the world should you worry? Of course I will look after them." "I know you always do, dear; only I wanted to remind you." "Well, you need not be anxious. When will you return?" "To-morrow, I think. You might have the carriage meet the afternoon express. Now I must fly." Jean caught up the valise, and carried it downstairs, while her sister went to say good-by to Mrs. Dennis. The carriage was already at the door when Helen came out on the veranda. She stopped a moment to kiss the boys and charge them to be good, and caught Gladys up in her arms. "Do you want to go to the station with sister?" "Course I do," enthusiastically. Helen put the child in the carriage, and then stepped in beside her. "Is my valise in, Jean?" "Yes, dear. Good-by, and have a good time." "I will," replied Helen, as Nathalie took her place on the front seat and gathered up the reins. "Remember, Jean, you have the entire responsibility of the children, and do not let Gladys out of your sight." Jean nodded smilingly, and stood on the steps and watched the carriage until a turn in the road bid it from view. Then, as she slowly made her way into the house, the light died out of her face, and involuntarily she sighed. "I wish I did not distrust Lillian Stuart as I do," she thought. "It is so unfounded--as yet." CHAPTER IX. A FLYING MACHINE AND WHAT CAME OF IT.