This time there was no indecision. The only safety lay in flight. When it came to the point of marrying the de Valska, he would be damned if he would. No sooner had he gained this conclusion than he sought to put it in practice. With quick and stealthy steps he gained the stable. A drive of fifteen miles to Framingham would put him on the New York train; and the Umbria sailed on the morrow. Little difficulties with countesses were better understood on European shores. But alas! it was only to find that the stable-door was locked. He could hear inside the noises of a restless horse, but both fast horse and buggy were beyond his reach. The over-cautious Schmidt had locked them in, and taken the key. May’s heart sank. He looked around for an axe, a log, anything to batter down the door with--he would have set fire to his own stable if necessary; then a brilliant thought occurred to him--of the pistol-shot that was to be the signal to Schmidt in cases of emergency. He ran back to the pavilion. As he passed the house he thought he heard sounds of angry collocation in the entry. But this was no time for idle curiosity; and he ran on to the pavilion, grasped the revolver, ran back before the house, placed himself in the little clump of pines, and fired. The noises in the house ceased. He fired again. The second report of his revolver was followed by a wild and shrill screaming in the house. A second after, the front door was violently flung open, and Mr. Terwilliger Dehon burst forth with the celerity of a pellet from a pop-gun. He was immediately and closely pursued by a female figure, screaming violently. After her, all in the focus of the dark-lantern, appeared a gaunt and stooping individual with a shot-gun, which he brought to his shoulder and incontinently fired, aiming, as far as May could judge, at the North Star. Then he threw away the shot-gun and joined in the pursuit; and after him came the faithful Schmidt, in obedience to his master’s signal, once more unperturbed. “What has happened?” cried May, rushing forward. “Where is she?” But even as he spoke, feminine arms were thrown around his neck, a fainting feminine figure hung about his shoulder, and feminine lips whispered in his ear: “At last!” With a gasp of despair, May disengaged her and led her to the front door, where he deposited his precious burden upon the china garden-seat. The countess seemed less graceful than of yore, and she certainty was heavier. But the countess, of course it was. “Sech a time, Mr. May,” said she. “Me a-comin’ up with the dépôt-man, and findin’ a burglar in the house; an’ the volleys from the ambushes as was outside; an’ Mr. Eastman a-runnin’ for his gun, an’ I chasin’ the burglar; an’ all along of that furriner in the kitchen as left the cellar-door wide open; an’, says I----”