At the station there was no sign of the fugitive. She objected instantly to Donaldson's suggestion that she go on while he wait over the night in the hope that Arsdale might turn up here for the first train in the morning. "You have already sacrificed enough of your time to me and mine," she protested. "I will not listen to it." And if she had been before her mirror doubtless the lady there would have pressed her to another explanation. He submitted reluctantly, a new doubt springing to his eyes. But she was firm and so they boarded the train once more for home. She used the word "home," and Donaldson found himself responding to it with a thrill as though he himself were included. The word had lost its meaning to him since his freshman year at college. They were back behind the hedge in so short a time that the day scarcely appeared real. She left him a moment in the hall while she ran upstairs to see Marie. The latter was still in bed, and at sight of her young mistress had a sharp question upon her lips. "Chèrie," she demanded, "why did not Ben go with you?" "Ben?" faltered the girl. "He was downstairs an hour after you left and would not come in to see me." "Ben was here?" "I shouted to him and he answered me. But his voice sounded bad. Is it well with him?" "He may be here now. I will run down and see." She flew down the stairs and into his room. It was empty. She rushed into her own room. It had been rifled. Every drawer was open, and it took but a glance to see that her few jewels were missing. She panted back to Marie. "You are sure it was he who was here?" "Do you think I do not know his voice after all these years?" The old woman put out her hand and seized the girl's arm. "Again?" she demanded. "Yes! Yes! Oh, Marie, what does it all mean?" "Ta, ta, chèrie. Rest your head here." She drew the young woman down beside her. "You went out there all alone. You are brave, but you should not have done that. You should have taken me with you. See, now, I shall get well. I shall arise at once. I never knew the black horses to fail me." Marie struggled to her elbow and threw off the clothes. But Elaine covered her up tight again, forcing her to lie still. "Stay here quietly until I come back," she insisted. "I shall not be gone but a minute." She hurried to her own room, trying to understand what the meaning of this impossible situation might be. Ben was here and Ben was in the bungalow and--there was the purse. There was the chance, of course, that Marie was mistaken, but Marie did not make such mistakes as this. Then one of the two men was not Ben. She took out again the pocket-book she had found and stared at it as though in hope that she might receive her answer through this. Then with a perplexed gasp, she threw it into one of the upset drawers, as though it burned her fingers.