affairs must take care of
themselves."

Mariette, Carmen's French maid, hurriedly and sulkily packed enough things
to last her mistress for a week; and by the time the trunk and bag were
ready the carriage was waiting to take Mrs. Gaylor into Bakersfield.
Everybody knew that no train would leave Kern for San Francisco until
night, but the imperious lady was in no mood to receive extraneous
information. She had said something about seeing a lawyer in Bakersfield.
If she chose to waste hours there it was her business, not that of the
household.

But driving to the town, Carmen decided not to go to San Francisco by that
night's train. She had had time to reflect a little, not only upon what
had happened, but upon what was likely to happen. If Angela May suspected
the truth--and Carmen's conscience told her that this was more than
probable--she would not go back to the ranch. Nick would not let her go
there, even if she wished it. He would send for or fetch the Irish maid
and the luggage, while Mrs. May--already engaged to marry him,
perhaps--waited at his place, or at a Bakersfield hotel. In any case it
was almost certain that "the woman" (as Carmen called Angela always, in
her mind) would travel to San Francisco that night. And it seemed likely
to Mrs. Gaylor that Nick would go with her and the maid. Carmen could not
risk an encounter in the train.

Arrived at Bakersfield, fortunately without meeting Nick in his motor, she
hired a large automobile. And at the hour when Hilliard was being informed
that Mrs. Gaylor had gone away for a few days, on business which had come
up suddenly, she was travelling swiftly by road to San Francisco.

The car she had engaged was a powerful touring automobile, with
side-curtains of canvas, and these she ordered to be kept down; for she
had some wild fear that Nick might discover her plan, try to follow and
find her during her journey, necessarily much longer by motor than by
train. Always by daylight she was peeping out, nervously, from under her
thick veil, but the Bright Angel never flashed into sight. She knew at
last that it would not come, that Nick did not mean to follow; that she
would not see him again this side the grave; for she did not intend ever
to return to the Gaylor ranch. Where she would live she did not know yet,
though she thought vaguely of some great city in Europe--Paris, perhaps,
where there would be plenty of excitement which might help her to forget.
Meanwhile