his guests.

'No, you will have to excuse me,' Arthur replied. 'I am too tired to
encounter old acquaintances or make new. I do not believe I could stand
old Peterkin, who you say is a millionaire. I suppose you want his
influence; your coachman told me you were running for Congress,' and
Arthur laughed the old merry musical laugh which Frank remembered so
well: then, suddenly changing his tune, he said: 'When does the next
train from the East pass the station?'

Frank told him at seven the next morning, and he continued:

'Please send the carriage to meet it. Gretchen will probably be there.
She was in the train with me, and should have gotten out when I did, but
she must have been asleep and carried by.'

'Gr-gr-gretchen! Who is she?' Frank stammered, while the cold sweat
began to run down his back.

The 'us' in the telegram did mean something, and mischief, too, to his
interests, he felt intuitively.

Instantly into Arthur's eyes there stole a look of cunning, and a
peculiar smile played round his mouth as he replied:

'She is Gretchen. See that the carriage goes for her, will you?'

His voice and manner indicated that he wished the conference ended, and
with a great sinking at his heart Frank left the room and returned to
his guests and his wife, who had not seen the stranger when he entered
the hall, and thus did not know of Arthur's arrival until her husband
rejoined her.

'He has come,' he whispered to her, while she whispered back:

'Is he alone?'

'Yes, but somebody is coming to-morrow; I do not know who; Gretchen, he
calls her,' was Frank's reply.

'Gretchen!' Mrs. Tracy repeated, in a trembling voice. 'Who is she?'

'I don't know. He merely said she was Gretchen; his daughter, perhaps,'
was Frank's answer, which sent the color from his wife's cheeks, and
made her so faint and sick that she would have given much to be alone
and think over this evil coming upon her the next day in the shape of
the mysterious Gretchen.

Meantime when left to himself, Arthur changed his mind with regard to
going down into the parlors to see his brother's guests, and, unlocking
the trunk which held his own wardrobe he took out an evening suit fresh
from the hands of a London tailor, and, arraying himself in it, stood
for a moment before the glass to see the effect. Everything was
faultless, from his neck-tie to his boots; and, opening the door, he
went out into the hall, which was empty, except for Harold, who was