She had never, I was sure, been lovelier than at this moment. Her eyes filled, but she lifted her head proudly. Whatever the trouble might be I was sorry for it on her own account; and if it involved Hartley Wiggins my sympathy went out to him also. On an impulse I spoke of him. "I was surprised to meet Hartley Wiggins here. He 's a dear friend of mine, you know. I thought he had gone to his ranch. He left the Hare and Tortoise very abruptly a few nights ago just after we had dined together. He must be stopping somewhere in the neighborhood." "It's quite possible. And there's an inn, you know. I fancy he drove over from there." "I hadn't thought of that; the Prescott Arms, I suppose you mean." She nodded, but she was clearly not interested in me, and when I found myself failing dismally to divert her thoughts to cheerfuller channels, I rose and bade her good-night. The servant who had previously attended me appeared promptly when I reached my room, bearing a tray, with biscuits and a bottle of ale. He gave me an envelope addressed in a hand I already knew as Miss Octavia's, and I opened and read:-- "The following I either detest or distrust, so kindly refrain from mentioning them while you are a guest of Hopefield Manor:-- Automobiles. Mashed Potatoes. Whiskers. Chopin's Concerto in E Minor (op. 11). Bishop's Coadjutor. Limericks. Cats. OCTAVIA HOLLISTER." I absorbed this with a glass of ale. There were seven items, I noted, and I had no serious quarrel with her attitude toward any of them; but just what these matters had to do with me or my presence in her house I could not determine. She had referred to me in the note as a guest--I had noted that; and I did know, moreover, that Miss Octavia Hollister possessed a quaint and delicate humor; and I looked forward with the pleasantest anticipations to our further meetings. Before I slept I threw up my window and stepped out upon a narrow balcony that afforded a capital view of the fields and woods to the east. The night was fine, with the sky bright with stars and moon. As my eyes dropped from the horizon to the near landscape, I saw a man perched on a knoll in the midst of a corn-field. He stood as rigid as a sentry on duty, or like a forlorn commander, counting the spears of his tattered battalions. I was not sure that he saw me, for the balcony was slightly shadowed, but at any rate, he was sharply outlined to my vision. His derby hat and overcoat gave him an odd appearance as he stood brooding above the corn. Then he vanished suddenly, though, as he retired toward the highway, I followed him for some time by the shaking and jerking of the corn-stalks.