If you are one of those captious people who must

verify by the calendar every new moon you read of in

a book, and if you are pained to discover the historian

lifting anchor and spreading sail contrary to the reckonings

of the nautical almanac, I beg to call your attention

to these items from the time-table of the Mid-Western

and Southern Railway for December, 1901.

The south-bound express passed Annandale at exactly

fifty-three minutes after four P. M. It was scheduled

to reach Cincinnati at eleven o'clock sharp. These

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items are, I trust, sufficiently explicit.

To the student of morals and motives I will say a

further word. I had resolved to practise deception in

running away from Glenarm House to keep my promise

to Marian Devereux. By leaving I should forfeit

my right to any part of my grandfather's estate; I

knew that and accepted the issue without regret; but I

had no intention of surrendering Glenarm House to

Arthur Pickering, particularly now that I realized how

completely I had placed myself in his trap. I felt,

moreover, a duty to my dead grandfather; and-not

least-the attacks of Morgan and the strange ways of

Bates had stirred whatever fighting blood there was in

me. Pickering and I were engaged in a sharp contest,

and I was beginning to enjoy it to the full, but I did not

falter in my determination to visit Cincinnati, hoping

to return without my absence being discovered; so the

next afternoon I began preparing for my journey.

"Bates, I fear that I'm taking a severe cold and I'm

going to dose myself with whisky and quinine and go

to bed. I shan't want any dinner,-nothing until you

see me again."

I yawned and stretched myself with a groan.

"I'm very sorry, sir. Shan't I call a doctor?"

"Not a bit of it. I'll sleep it off and be as lively as

a cricket in the morning."

At four o'clock I told him to carry some hot water

and lemons to my room; bade him an emphatic good

night and locked the door as he left. Then I packed

my evening clothes in a suit-case. I threw the bag and

a heavy ulster from a window, swung myself out upon

the limb of a big maple and let it bend under me to its

sharpest curve and then dropped lightly to the ground.

I passed the gate and struck off toward the village

with a joyful sense of freedom. When I reached the

station I sought at once the south-bound platform, not

wishing to be seen buying a ticket. A few other passengers

were assembling, but I saw no one I recognized.

Number six, I heard the agent say, was on time; and

in a few minutes it came roaring up. I bought a seat

in the Washington sleeper and went into the dining-car

for supper. The train was full of people hurrying to

various ports for the holidays, but they had, I reflected,

no advantage over me. I, too, was bound on a definite

errand, though my journey was, I imagined, less commonplace

in its character than the homing flight of

most of my fellow travelers.




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