Renshaw stared speechlessly at this absurd realization of his wish of a moment before. "I don't think I understand you," he stammered. "P'r'aps not," returned Nott, with great gravity. "But that's not so much matter to you ez your time and expenses." "I meant I should be glad to go if I can be of any service to you," said Renshaw, hastily. "You kin ketch the seven o'clock boat this morning, and you'll reach San Rafael at ten--" "But I thought Miss Rosey went to Petaluma," interrupted Renshaw quickly. Nott regarded him with an expression of patronizing superiority. "That's what we ladled out to the public gin'rally, and to Ferrers and his gang in partickler. We SAID Petalumey, but if you go to Madrono Cottage, San Rafael, you'll find Rosey thar." If Mr. Renshaw required anything more to convince him of the necessity of coming to some understanding with Rosey at once it would have been this last evidence of her father's utterly dark and supremely inscrutable designs. He assented quickly, and Nott handed him a note. "Ye'll be partickler to give this inter her own hands, and wait for an answer," said Nott gravely. Resisting the proposition to enter then and there into an elaborate calculation of the value of his time and the expenses of the trip, Renshaw found himself at seven o'clock on the San Rafael boat. Brief as was the journey it gave him time to reflect upon his coming interview with Rosey. He had resolved to begin by confessing all; the attempt of last night had released him from any sense of duty to Sleight. Besides, he did not doubt that Nott's letter contained some reference to this affair only known to Nott's dark and tortuous intelligence. VIII Madrono Cottage lay at the entrance of a little canada already green with the early winter rains, and nestled in a thicket of the harlequin painted trees that gave it a name. The young man was a little relieved to find that Rosey had gone to the post-office a mile away, and that he would probably overtake her or meet her returning--alone. The road--little more than a trail--wound along the crest of the hill looking across the canada to the long, dark, heavily-wooded flank of Mount Tamalpais that rose from the valley a dozen miles away. A cessation of the warm rain, a rift in the sky, and the rare spectacle of cloud scenery, combined with a certain sense of freedom, restored that lighthearted gayety that became him most. At a sudden turn of the road he caught sight of Rosey's figure coming towards him, and quickened his step with the impulsiveness of a boy. But she suddenly disappeared, and when he again saw her she was on the other side of the trail apparently picking the leaves of a manzanita. She had already seen him. Somehow the frankness of his greeting was checked. She looked up at him with cheeks that retained enough of their color to suggest why she had hesitated, and said, "YOU here, Mr. Renshaw? I thought you were in Sacramento."