ar," said the pursuer calmly. "It will not be
long before I sight it again."

There was a hard, beaten footpath at one side of the road; taking to
this, the man on the motor cycle found it easy traveling enough.
Shortly after, he caught the laborings of the Maillard as it made its
way through the binding ruts; then he slowed down and ran easily along
the path, content, apparently, to keep in sound of the chase.

But upon finally reaching the highway, he increased his speed until he
sighted the dust of the car; this he hung to like a beagle, but never
once allowed the car itself to come into view.

At last the sounds of the Maillard ceased and the pall of dust thinned
and dissolved itself in the air. The motor cycle ran swiftly on until
the car, now at a standstill, became visible; then the Italian got
down, took out a pair of field-glasses and swept the highway before
him.

What he saw must have satisfied him that there would be no more use
for his machine for a time, at least; for he pushed it to a place
where there was a break in a fence and concealed it behind a
musty-looking corn shock, left from the fall before. Then placing the
glass under his arm he walked guardedly along the road in the
direction of Miss Vale's car.

Some distance further on there was a tall swamp maple growing by the
roadside; it was an easy task to mount into its branches from the top
fence-rail; then resting snugly in a high fork, he leveled his glass
and proceeded to scan the scene before him.

Miss Vale had descended from her car; her veil was raised, and she
was gingerly picking at the mechanism with hands sheathed in canvas
gloves. With apparent intentness she took out tools; small parts were
inspected minutely. And yet, for all that, there was something unusual
in her manner; every now and then she would lift her head, casually,
so it seemed, and glance away across the fields.

"And always to the right," murmured the man in the tree-top, after a
little.

At once the big glass swept around in that direction.

"A house," added the watcher, with great satisfaction.

The building was almost buried in a thick growth of trees; its white
sides and red roof shone in the sun through branches abud with April.

Suddenly, in the midst of her labor, Miss Vale paused; her manner
changed, the tools were dropped, the parts lost interest. Facing the
house, she yawned, with arms thrown wide after the manner of one much
wearied with a task; t