It is a strange ride. Wycherley has been introduced, and manages to put in a word now and then, though unusually quiet for him. Perhaps he is thinking of how near he came to occupying the position the Canadian has taken--or it may be he speculates on the possibilities of his great deal for the morrow. At length they cross the State Street bridge and reach the North Side of Chicago, but quite a stretch still intervenes, for the old speculator has his mansion out near Lincoln Park, being one of the favored few whom fortune allows to gaze upon the magnificent lake from his library windows. Dorothy has become reserved. She realizes that this gentleman, who has several times been of such assistance to her, must look upon her escapade of the night with curiosity at least. True, she is not responsible for what occurred on the Ferris wheel, or near the exit of the Midway; but somehow her participation in such scenes reflects upon the wisdom of a young lady attending the Fair at night with only a companion of her own sex. Her lips are sealed with reference to a certain subject, and she evidently does not suspect that Craig has seen her in company with the young miner. On his part Craig feels a genuine regret to remember what the Colorado sheriff told him in connection with John Phœnix, whose downfall is bound to suddenly occur. Perhaps, when he comes to know her better, he may be able to learn what peculiar bond there is between these two--who can tell the vagaries that flit through the mind of a bachelor in love. If this young fellow has won her regard, and his true character comes out with his arrest for embezzlement, perhaps--well, hearts have before now been caught in the rebound. At length he forces himself to speak again upon the subject of her return. Perhaps she might not like to drive up to her father’s house? She laughs for the first time since entering the carriage, and it pleases Craig to hear her. “If you knew me better, Mr. Craig, you would never suspect me of being afraid in anything that concerns the dear old governor. He idolizes me. If I say I’m going to Japan to-morrow he would never throw an obstacle in my way. Though a bear to others, he’s the dearest and best man in the world to me. That is why I have dared to undertake this task--through love for him.” He wonders what task, but is not rude enough to ask. They roll between elegant mansions on Dearborn Avenue, and will soon be at their destination. “Then you will alight in front of your door?” “If you please, sir.” No more is said, each being busy with thoughts that come unbidden into the mind. The driver has been coached and knows where to turn. At length the carriage stops. Dorothy looks out. “It is home,” she says quietly.