gly turned around and ran back to where the carriage was
standing. An hour later the automobile rolled into the driveway at
Bonner Place, and Anderson Crow, a glorious triumph in his face, handed
Miss Banks from the tonneau and into the arms of Rosalie Gray, who at
first had mistaken the automobile for another. Pompous to the point of
explosion, Anderson waved his hand to the party assembled on the
veranda, strolled around to Mr. Barnes's seat and acquired a light for
his cigar with a nonchalance that almost overcame his one-time prisoner,
and then said, apparently to the whole world, for he addressed no one in
particular:

"I knowed I could solve the blamed thing if they'd jest give me time."

CHAPTER XXXV.

The Story is Told

Elsie Banks had a small and select audience in Mrs. Bonner's room
upstairs. She had come from New York--or from California, strictly
speaking--to furnish the narrative which was to set Rosalie Gray's mind
at rest forever-more. It was not a pleasant task; it was not an easy
sacrifice for this spirited girl who had known luxury all her life. Her
spellbound hearers were Mrs. Bonner and Edith, Wicker Bonner, Anderson
Crow, Rosalie, and John E. Barnes, who, far from being a captive of the
law, was now Miss Gray's attorney, retained some hours before by his
former captor.

"I discharge you, sir," Anderson had said, after hearing Miss Bank's
statement in the roadway. "You are no longer a prisoner. Have you
anything to say, sir?"

"Nothing, Mr. Crow, except to offer my legal services to you and your
ward in this extraordinary matter. Put the matter in my hands, sir, and
she shall soon come into her own, thanks to this young lady. I may add
that, as I am not in the habit of soliciting clients, it is not my
intention in this instance to exact a fee from your ward. My services
are quite free, given in return, Mr. Crow, for the magnanimous way in
which you have taken me into your confidence ever since I have known
you. It is an honour to have been arrested by you; truthfully it is no
disgrace."

In the privacy of Mrs. Bonner's sitting-room, Elsie Banks, dry-eyed and
bitter, told the story of her life. I cannot tell it as she did, for she
was able to bring tears to the eyes of her listeners. It is only for me
to relate the bare facts, putting them into her words as closely as
possible. Rosalie Gray, faint with astonishment and incredulity, a lump
in her throat that would not go down, and tear