"What a lonely time you must have had of it, Mr. Fessenden!" This last thrust was from no less a person than Miss Yarnell. He gave her a broad smile in return. He allowed the others to believe what they would, explaining only that he had been compelled to leave the _Will-o'-the-Wisp_ in Piney Cove. Cresap promised to send his man up to bring her back to the landing-stage. [Illustration: "I'M AFRAID YOU'LL FIND THE CABIN-DOOR CATCH IS BROKEN," SAID MADGE YARNELL IN AN UNDERTONE] "I'm afraid you'll find the cabin-door catch is broken," said Madge Yarnell in an undertone, as she halted near Fessenden on her way to bed. "If I hadn't been sure you'd smashed through easily enough, I should have come back to the sloop and sailed away with you." "With me?" "Certainly--made you captive like an old buccaneer. Willy-nilly, I should have clapped you under hatches, and sailed for the Spanish Main." Her brooding eyes dwelt long upon him. "That's very interesting." She struck her hands softly together. "It's worth thinking about. Thank you for the suggestion, Mr. Fessenden." "I'm not sure I understand." "Of course you don't. You're only a man." In the morning, although he was not down for breakfast until nine o'clock, he was ahead of any of the others. One of the servants handed him a telegram. He read it with amusement over Betty's cleverness. THOMAS FESSENDEN, Sandywood, Polocoke County, Maryland. Meet me Club one o'clock. Important personal matter. Want your advice. Don't fail me. CHARLES DANTON. He requested the butler to turn over the telegram to Mr. and Mrs. Cresap, and to explain to them that he would be back at Sandywood before dinner. On the plea that he vastly preferred a walk, he managed to evade the man's suggestion that the car be brought round to take him to Sandywood Station. Precisely at ten o'clock he was cooling his heels on the stone wall at the foot of the lane. In that shaded hollow the sun had not yet pierced to dry the dew from the wild myrtle. Now and then the clambering creepers rustled where a field-mouse ran shyly through them. An oriole flashed from a sycamore, like an orange tossed deftly skyward. Spring was a living presence--Fessenden was stirred by its exuberance as he had not been these ten years. By and by a rattle of wheels came to his ears. Presently a serene gray mare hove in sight, escorting, rather than pulling, a low-swung landau with an ancient calash-top. So capacious was the hood that at first he could descry no one in its depths. Then the mare came to a condescending halt, and a laughing face leaned into view. [Illustration: "GOOD-MORNING, PATIENCE-ON-A-MONUMENT"] "Good-morning, Patience-on-a-Monument." "Good-morning, Grief. Grief, that's the fluffiest hat I ever saw." "Have you been waiting long?" "Hours and hours." "Then, come, get in. We're going driving 'over the hills and far away.'"