"Remain here another half hour," he was saying; "then follow and strike the conspirators dumb. It will be better than a melodrama. I saw Oleander to-day, and I know information of your escape has not yet reached him. You had better enter the house by the most private entrance, so that, all unknown, you can appear before us and scare us out of a year's growth." "I know how to get in," said Mollie. "Trust me to play my part." Mr. Ingelow departed, full of delightful anticipations of the fun to come. He found all the guests assembled before him. It was quite a select little family party, and Mr. Walraven and Sir Roger Trajenna were in a state of despondent gloom that had become chronic of late. Mollie, the apple of their eye, their treasure, their darling, was not present, and the whole universe held nothing to compensate them for her loss. Mrs. Walraven, superbly attired, and looking more like Queen Cleopatra than ever, with, a circlet of red gold in her blue-black hair, and her polished shoulders and arms gleaming like ivory against bronze in her golden-brown silk, presided like an empress. She was quite radiant to-night, and so was Dr. Guy. All their plans had succeeded admirably. Mollie was absolutely in their power. This time to-morrow scores of broad sea miles would roll between her and New York. The conversation turned upon her ere they had been a quarter of an hour at table. Mr. Walraven never could leave the subject uppermost in his thoughts for long. "It is altogether extraordinary," Sir Roger Trajenna said, slowly. "The first absence was unaccountable enough, but this second is more unaccountable still. Some enemy is at the bottom." "Surely Miss Dane could have no enemies," said Hugh Ingelow. "We all know how amiable and lovable she was." "Lovable, certainly. We know that," remarked Sardonyx, with a grim smile. "And I adhere to my former opinion," said Dr. Oleander, with consummate coolness--"that Miss Mollie is playing tricks on her friends, to try their affection. We know what a tricksy sprite she is. Believe me, both absences were practical jokes. She has disappeared of her own free will. It was very well in the Dark Ages--this abducting young ladies and carrying them off to castle-keeps--but it won't do in New York, in the present year of grace." "My opinion precisely, Guy," chimed in his fair cousin. "Mollie likes to create sensations. Her first absence set the avenue on the _qui vive_ and made her a heroine, so she is resolved to try it again. If people would be guided by me," glancing significantly at her husband, "they would cease to worry themselves about her, and let her return at her own good pleasure, as she went." "Yes, Mr. Walraven," said Dr. Oleander, flushed and triumphant, "Blanche is right. It is useless to trouble yourself so much about it. Of her own accord she will come back, and you may safely swear of her own accord she went." "Guy Oleander, you lie!"