Frail mortals are too weak to resist, and in a few moments we are seated in Ida's stylish new phaeton; and Gabrielle's irrepressible ponies, under the guidance of Tourbillon herself, are dashing away at a pace that terrifies our sober Quaker neighbors beyond expression. Mamma has been solemnly warned against allowing Gabrielle to drive "those fearful horses;" but we all share our pretty Tourbillon's fondness for a _tourbillon_ pace, and know well the strength she possesses in her little wrists, and the coolness she could exercise were there any danger. While returning from a charming drive upon the Sing Sing road, a day or two since, the horses, whose spirits were unusually high, shied suddenly at something dark by the roadside. By a dexterous management of the reins, Gabrielle quickly subdued them, and we all looked to see what had startled them. An object was crouching in the grass, evidently human, but of what sex or nationality it was impossible in one swift glance to determine; and it was quite amusing to hear our different opinions as we drove on. "I think," said mamma, "that it was an enormous woman, with a baby in her arms, but I really cannot be sure, for I only looked at the face--such a hideous, repulsive face. I shall dream of it to-night, I am convinced." "A woman!" said Marguerite. "My impression was of a very murderous-looking man--an Indian, I thought, he was so very dark." Gabrielle's view of the case differed from the others. The creature had, she said, a heavy black beard, which, was un-Indian-like, and was garbed in a dark calico gown with open sleeves, through which she plainly perceived a pair of unmistakably muscular, masculine arms. In the words of Macbeth-- "You should be woman, And yet your beard forbids me to interpret That you are so." Neither Marguerite nor Gabrielle had seen the baby, and Gabrielle's conclusion that this frightful being was a convict who had escaped from Sing Sing disguised as a woman, was quite logical. "Chappaqua is certainly in unpleasant proximity to Sing Sing," I said with a shudder, for I have not many elements of a heroine about me. "Yes," was mamma's cheerful rejoinder, "and you know we were told yesterday that one or two of the most dangerous convicts had recently escaped, and had entered several houses in Chappaqua--to say nothing of Mr. O'Dwyer's report that that dreadful Captain Jack has escaped, and is known to be lurking in the neighborhood of our peaceful little village." "Pray let us change the subject," I entreated, "or between convicts and Modocs I shall have the nightmare for a month." _June 9_. We have just said good-by to Senor Delmonte, of Hayti, who has gone down on the 4.45 train, after passing, I hope, a pleasant day with us. [Illustration: The Train Station.]