"Girls change.--You never asked her but once. Suppose you try again. You are young enough and handsome enough to win whomsoever you please." "You are complimentary. Suppose we leave all that and proceed to business. Tell me what you know of Miss Dane's abduction." He seated himself before her and waited, his eyes fixed gravely on her face. "To make what I have to say intelligible," said Miriam, "it is necessary to give you an insight into the mystery of her previous evanishment. She was tricked away by artifice, carried off and forcibly held a prisoner by a man whose masked face she never saw." "Impossible! Mr. Walraven told me, told every one, she was with you." "Very likely. Also, that I was dying or dead. The one part is as true as the other. Mollie never was near me. She was forcibly detained by this unknown man for a fortnight, then brought home. She told me the story, and also who she suspected that man to be." "Who?" Miriam looked at him curiously. "Doctor Guy Oleander, or--you!" "Ah, you jest, madame!" haughtily. "I do not. She was mistaken, it appears, but she really thought it might be you. To make sure, she found means of communicating with this strange man, and a meeting was appointed for last night, ten o'clock, corner of Broadway and Fourteenth Street". "Yes! Well?" "Mollie went, still thinking--perhaps I should say hoping--it might be you, Mr. Ingelow: and I, too, was there." "Well?" "Mollie did not see me. I hovered aloof. It was only half past nine when she came--half an hour too early--but already a carriage was waiting, and a man, disguised in hat and cloak and flowing beard, stepped forward and accosted her at once. What he said to her I don't know, but he persuaded her, evidently with reluctance, to enter the carriage with him. The rain was pouring. I suppose that was why she went. In a moment the coachman had whipped up the horses, and they were off like a flash." Miriam paused. Mr. Ingelow sat staring at her with a face of pale amaze. "It sounds like a scene from a melodrama. And Miss Dane has not returned since?" "No; and the household on Fifth Avenue are at their wits' end to comprehend it." "And so am I," said the artist. "From what you say, it is evident she went willingly--of her own accord. In such a case, of course, I can do nothing." "She did not go willingly. I am certain she entered that carriage under the impression she was going with you." Mr. Ingelow's sensitive face reddened. He rose and walked to the window. "But since it was not I, who do you suppose it may have been?" "Doctor Oleander." "No! He would not dare!" "I don't know him," said Miriam; "but from what Mollie says of him, I should judge him to be capable of anything. He loves her, and he is madly jealous; and jealous men stop at nothing. Then, too, Mrs. Walraven would aid him. She hates Mollie as only one woman can hate another."