efore a stately Colonial mansion seated back among the pines of a
beautiful Long Island estate. They had been driving for more than an
hour. The girl stirred languorously as he strove to awaken her. She
murmured drowsily:

"No, Jack, dear. Emphatically no. Let's not talk about it any more, dear
boy."

"Who can Jack be?" and a surprising pang shot through Montague Shirley's
heart. "Jack, dear! Well, and what's it my business. She is a stranger.
She lives her life and I mine. But, at any rate, that settles some silly
things I've been thinking. I'm less awake than she is."

This time he tried with better success, and Helene rubbed her eyes, with
hands stiffened by the brisk bite of the chill wind. She gazed at the
dimly lit house, at the big figure beside her, as Shirley sprang to the
ground--then remembered it all, and trembled despite herself.

"Oh, it's you, Mr. Shirley," and she summoned up a little throaty laugh,
as she arose stiffly. "What a queer place to be in!"

"We are a long way from New York's white lights, Miss Marigold. This is
the country home of a good old friend of mine. You can remain here for
the rest of the night, as his wife's guest. To-morrow, when you are
rested, he can send you to the city in one of his cars."

"You are the most curious man in two continents. I am bewildered. First,
you kidnap a chauffeur and privateer his car, then me. Now you besiege a
friend and wish to leave me on his doorstep as a foundling."

"I'm sorry--it's the exigency of war! We must finish what we started.
This is the only place I know where I could thoroughly hide my trail. We
must wake up Jim, but first I will have a look at our guest."

Shirley walked around the car, shooting the beam from his pocket
flashlight in through the open window of the taxi, to be met by
the wicked black eyes of his prisoner, who uttered volumes of
unpronounceable hatred.

"You are still with us, little bright eyes. A pleasant trip, I trust? I
hope you found the air good--I tried to improve the ventilation for your
benefit, as well as my own." Only a subdued gurgle answered him.

"Oh, what will they think of me--in this immodest gown, with this paint
on my face, and at this hour of night?" pleaded Helene, as he started
toward the door of the mansion.

"It would be awful at that," and Shirley paused at the beseeching tone
of the girl. "I want you to meet Mrs. Jim as well as Jim. I am afraid
they would think this was the echo of an o