touched with the woman's frantic fears, Randall Clayton sprang
into the carriage. Through the blinding storm he had reached the
New York side before he thought of his own movements, of the morrow,
of his coming friend, and of his wary enemies.

Then he resolutely made up his mind to fight the warring Fates to
a finish.

He drove to the Astor House, dismissed his driver with a ransom
fee, and there hid himself in an upper room.

When he presented himself at the half-deserted office of the Western
Trading Company, upon the next morning, he was clad in unfamiliar
garb.

His blood-shot eyes told of a vigil of mental suffering, and he
dared say nothing as he gruffly bowed when Mr. Somers told him of
Robert Wade's continued illness.

"I am going down to the election," said the old accountant. "And
so you will be in charge, as Mr. Ferris has not been heard from.
There is no one here but you to represent the management."

"Trapped," muttered Clayton, who listened every moment for some
tidings of the woman whose silken hair had wound its delicate meshes
around him in the storm. "Dying; dead, perhaps," he groaned, in an
agony of excitement, and then and there he swore that, upon the
arrival of Witherspoon he would leave the cave of his enemies, await
his fate, and bear Irma Gluyas away to farther and fairer lands.

The long morning dragged on in a semi-stupor as he sat there
listening to the hollow footfall of the casual passers-by.

And yet there was no word from Madame Raffoni, the only holder of
the secret of Irma Gluyas' life. His foot was on the threshhold to
leave at last, when Arthur Ferris calmly entered.

Randall Clayton mastered himself with a mighty effort, as Ferris
glibly murmured, "I am only here for a few moments! Come into the
private office."

The few minutes before they were at their ease in Robert Wade's
impregnable sanctum enabled Clayton to steel himself against the
secret bridegroom's duplicity. Clayton's quick eye noted Ferris'
satchel, his top-coat and umbrella carelessly thrown down on Wade's
reading-table.

"Have you been at the rooms?" carelessly remarked Clayton, tossing
Ferris' private keys upon the table. "No," curtly replied Ferris.
"I came here directly from the train. I wished to stop and see my
mother and sister; but Wade's illness has upset all my plans.

"I have to go on to Philadelphia at once on some private business
for the Chief. You know he is a very heavy stockhold