they were at the station, listening to Gilbert's rapid, lucid
inquiries and description, and the clerk shook his head.

"No," he said; "so far as he could recollect, no two parties answering
the description, had left by the earliest train that morning."

Then Mr. Gilbert went backward, and tried the registers of the various
hotels for the name of Thorndyke. It did not appear, but in one of the
lesser hotels the question was solved.

"Thar hain't ben nobody here answerin' to that air," said the Down-East
innkeeper; "but thar hes ben a chap callin' himself Smith--John Smith.
That may be the cove you want. Likely's not, ye know, if he's ben up to
any of his larks, he would give a false name, ye know. He come Saturday
night--staid Sunday and Monday, paid his bill last evenin', and made
himself scarce. Shouldn't be a mite surprised, now, if he's the rooster
you're after."

"Describe him," the lawyer said, briefly.

"Wal, he was a good-lookin' young fellow as ye'd wish to see. Tall and
slim and genteel, city clothes, a moustache, blueish eyes, and sorter
light hair--a swell young chap, sech as we ain't used to in our house."

"Thorndyke!" the lawyer muttered, between his teeth.

"He never stirred out all Sunday," pursued mine host, "until after
nightfall. Then he started off afoot, and it was past eleven when he got
back. All day Monday he loafed about his room the same way, and on
Monday evennin', as I said, he paid his bill, got a buggy somewhere, and
drove off. And I calk'late, square, he'd been a drinkin', he kinder
looked and talked that way. That's all I know about Mr. John Smith."

They telegraphed along the line, but without success. Nothing
satisfactory could be discovered. It was noon now--there was a train
for Boston at two. Mr. Gilbert looked at his watch.

"I will not return with you," he said, decisively. "I will go on to
Boston. I am positive he will take her there. Meantime, you will leave
no stone unturned to track the fugitives here."

"I'll go with you to Boston," said Uncle Reuben, quietly; "if he's taken
her there, my place is on the ground. Joe will do all he can here. And
by the Lord! when I _do_ see him, I'll make it the dearest night's work
he ever did in his life."

So it was arranged. In the dismal loneliness of the pouring afternoon,
Joe Kent drove back alone to Kent Hill and to the tortured woman waiting
there. Who knew? thought quiet Joe. Perhaps Mr. Gilbert and Reuben had
been too h