They peered out from the calash-top, and made out a horsewoman galloping down a side-path toward them. Her whip was going on her horse's flank, and now and then she brandished it as if to signal the two in the landau. Betty pulled up. "Let's see what she wants." In another moment the horsewoman was near enough to bring an exclamation of recognition from Fessenden. "Hello! I believe it's Miss Yarnell." "Miss Yarnell?" "The girl who said she recognized the envelope you sent me the other day. Perhaps she wants to ask the way home." Miss Yarnell rode out of the crossroad full tilt, and only checked her sorrel when his nose was within a foot of the gray mare's. Fessenden viewed this characteristic impetuosity with curiosity, which changed to amazement when his eyes fell upon her face. Her eyes were blazing, and her teeth were clenched. She did not wait to be interrogated, but faced the calash-top. "I've been looking for you!" she cried. "Come out here where we can talk." Her tones were not loud, but her voice was choked with passion, and she lifted her riding-whip as she spoke. "Come out! I want to have a talk with you." The response was more prompt than she could have anticipated. Before she could carry out her evident purpose of forcing her uneasy horse to the very dashboard, Fessenden slipped from the landau, ducked under the mare's head, and, seizing the sorrel by the bit, forced him back. "What's up, Miss Yarnell?" he said, with stern jocularity. "You mustn't ride into people's laps, you know." "Oh, I don't want _you_," she said. "I want _her_." Again the silver-mounted whip was brandished toward the calash-top. Betty's piquant face emerged from its depths. "Are you looking for me?" she asked very sweetly. Miss Yarnell's arm fell. She stared at the childish face--at the wide-opened blue eyes and slender figure. "O-oh!" Her voice was tremulous, all hint of violence gone from it. "_You!_ I thought it was--I thought it was some one else." "At any rate, it isn't proper to threaten one with a whip," said Betty gravely. "I--I know it. There!" Her arm swung up, and the whip spun a flashing arc through the air before falling into a field of ripening wheat. "The hateful thing!" She faced the girl again. "I'm sorry. I've been acting like a fool. I beg your pardon--and yours too, Mr. Fessenden." She checked the horse she had already started to wheel, and appealed to Betty. "I _must_ ask you. I came after you because I thought you were--were some one else. I thought so because of that envelope Thursday." "A Baltimore friend of mine happens to have lent me a box of her notepaper." There was impatience in Betty's explanation. "O-oh, I see! But--please!--that telegram from Charlie to him"--she indicated Fessenden. "I supposed--some one--had sent that--to put me off the track." "It wasn't sent from White Cottage." "Then it was real?" "I know nothing about it," returned the girl icily.