d by
the Professor, by Cora, and by his sister. Goes much muffled, and
enacting the _role_ of invalid.

They are taking the sick man South; this is what the villagers think.

But when the train reaches the city, this select party disbands. John
Arthur becomes active once more and, with his sister, hurries away in
the nearest cab, while the Professor and Cora separate by mutual
consent.

And here we will leave them--all but Cora.

She has escaped Scylla only to fall upon Charybdis. As she hurries
along through the familiar streets, her plans are laid. She will go to
Lucian Davlin's rooms; nobody will be there to dispute her possession
for a day or two to come, and she has possessed herself of the keys,
left behind as useless by their outlawed owner.

When she ascends the steps, some one, who is lounging past the
premises, looks at her narrowly. As she disappears behind the swinging
outer door, this lounger becomes wonderfully alert, and hastens away
as if he had just discovered his mission.

Two hours later, as Cora descends the stairs and emerges into the
street, the vision of a monkey-faced old man appears before her. And
while another lays a firm detaining hand upon her arm, the old man,
fairly dancing with glee, cries out:

"Ah, ha! here you are, my pretty sharper! I didn't have these premises
watched for nothing, did I? Now I have got you! Bring her along,
officer, bring her along. She won't dodge us this time."

And Cora is hurried into a cab, closely followed by old Verage, who
chatters his doubtful consolation, and laughs his eldritch laughter,
and finally consigns her to prison to answer to a charge of
swindling.

CHAPTER L.

"AND THEN COMES REST."

At last Oakley is rid of its _intriguants_, its plotters and
impostors.

And Madeline and Claire sit alone in the chamber of the former,
talking of the strange events that have so lately transpired--of
Philip Girard's vindication, of Lucian Davlin's punishment, of Edward
Percy's death.

It is the day following that of the burial, and Mrs. Ralston is lying
asleep in her own room, with old Hagar in near attendance.

"Poor Mrs. Ralston," says Claire, after a long pause in their
converse. "She is thoroughly worn out, and yet, weary as she was, she
must have talked with you for hours, Madeline, after we came back from
the grave."

Over Madeline's face flits an odd, half-sad smile, as she replies,
dreamily:

"Yes, we talked a long time, dear