She started to dismount, and Nick stepped forward to assist her; but with a quick, light spring, she was out of the saddle before he could touch her. There was no mistaking the accent of the woman when she spoke, or rather, there could be no two opinions in regard to her enunciation. It was decidedly English, and yet with so faint a trace of it that she probably thought, herself, that she spoke it like an American. It has been said that the real English sing their words, and she sang hers, certainly, and with a voice that sounded capable of singing anything. “I found myself in this neighborhood a little while ago, and made bold to ask for accommodation,” explained the detective, approaching nearer to her; and he perceived that she answered very well indeed to the meager description he had of her. There was no denying her beauty, or that it belonged to a class by itself. She was the brunette that had been partly described to him; the woman with the luminous eyes, with the perfect figure, the dark hair, the olive complexion, which was yet too fair to be olive. She was Juno; he was assured of that; and hence was the woman with whom he wished to converse. As soon as she dismounted and after replying to his statement with a word or two, she led the way into the house, and to a sitting room which Nick had not seen before. “You are a stranger in this part of the country?” she said inquiringly, after indicating a chair for him to occupy, and disposing of her own person on a low rocker. “Kingsgift is such an out of the way place that strangers rarely honor us; still, you are welcome. It is unfortunate that my husband is absent, else he would entertain you.” “Madam, thank you,” replied Nick, accepting the proffered chair. “You are very kind. The truth is, I was informed that you, also, were absent.” Again she indulged in that musical laugh of hers, which was almost contagious. “That is a little story of mine,” she said, “but I cannot make Liza keep to it. Since my husband went away, I have preferred to keep to myself, and I permitted it to be thought around here that I had gone with him—or in another direction. But it makes no difference. I believe that you have not yet told me your name, sir.” “I am Mr. Carter, from New York,” he replied, giving his own name in spite of the fact that he was partly disguised. He wished now that he was not. “Then you are a long way from home, are you not?” “A very long way; yes, indeed; and my horses were about played out when I arrived here. I doubt if they could have gone three miles farther.” “And you were bound for——” she stopped with the rising inflection. “In the morning I will go to a place called Hague, if some one here will direct me.” “Did you come from the north?” “I drove from Fredericksburg.” “Indeed? And arrived here? Why, you must have gone directly through Hague, unless you took the wrong road and came by a very devious course.”