"I think," he said, "that if you are rested we had better start again." She rose at once and took her place by his side for the last stretch of free road that lay between her and the city. At the station there was no sign of the fugitive. She objected instantly to Donaldson's suggestion that she go on while he wait over the night in the hope that Arsdale might turn up here for the first train in the morning. "You have already sacrificed enough of your time to me and mine," she protested. "I will not listen to it." And if she had been before her mirror doubtless the lady there would have pressed her to another explanation. He submitted reluctantly, a new doubt springing to his eyes. But she was firm and so they boarded the train once more for home. She used the word "home," and Donaldson found himself responding to it with a thrill as though he himself were included. The word had lost its meaning to him since his freshman year at college. They were back behind the hedge in so short a time that the day scarcely appeared real. She left him a moment in the hall while she ran upstairs to see Marie. The latter was still in bed, and at sight of her young mistress had a sharp question upon her lips. "Cherie," she demanded, "why did not Ben go with you?" "Ben?" faltered the girl. "He was downstairs an hour after you left and would not come in to see me." "Ben was here?" "I shouted to him and he answered me. But his voice sounded bad. Is it well with him?" "He may be here now. I will run down and see." She flew down the stairs and into his room. It was empty. She rushed into her own room. It had been rifled. Every drawer was open, and it took but a glance to see that her few jewels were missing. She panted back to Marie. "You are sure it was he who was here?" "Do you think I do not know his voice after all these years?" The old woman put out her hand and seized the girl's arm.