topped before the closed
half-house.

"Is this the place? It looks uninhabited," said Heathcote.

"'T always looks so; she's such a screw, she is," replied Eli, addressed
as "Li" by his friends.

Heathcote knocked; no answer. He went round to the back door, but found
no sign of life.

"There is no one here. Would any one in the neighborhood know where she
has gone?"

"Mr. Green might, over to the store," said Li.

"Drive there."

"I've got to meet the next train, but I'll take you as fur as the door;
'tain't but a step from there to the station. And you might as well pay
me now," he added, carelessly, "because the mare she's very fiery, and
won't stand." Pocketing his money--double price--he drove off, exultant.
It was a mile and a half to the station, and a hot, cloudless morning.

Heathcote made acquaintance with Mr. Green, and asked his question.
There was no one in the shop at the moment, and Mr. Green responded
freely that he knew Miss Peters very well; in fact, they were old
friends. She had gone to Valley City--had, in fact, left that very
morning in the same red wagon which had brought the inquirer to his
door; he, Green, looking out by chance, had seen her pass. What did she
do in Valley City? Why, she taught--in fact, kept school. She had kept
school there for ten years, and he, Green, was the only one in the
neighborhood who knew it, since she--Miss Peters--wasn't much liked
about there, perhaps on account of her being a Papist. But in such
matters, he, Green, was liberal. Did she have any one with her? Yes, she
had; in fact, Miss Douglas--same young lady as was there the fore part
of the summer. No, they warn't going to stop at all in New York; going
right through to the West. Hoped there was no bad news?

"No," replied Heathcote.

But his monosyllable without details convinced the hearer that there
was, and before night the whole neighborhood was humming with
conjecture. The darkest of the old suspicions about mademoiselle's past
were now held to have been verified.

Heathcote walked back to the station over the red clay road, and looked
for that boy. But Li had taken care to make good his retreat. By the
delay two trains were missed, and he was obliged to wait; when he
reached the city it was two o'clock, and it seemed to him that the
pavements had never exhaled such withering heat. His rooms were closed;
he went to the hotel, took a bath, took two, but could not recover
either his coolness