to hear from me at any time, to see me at any moment. Don't answer any
questions about me. A thousand thanks for all your love and kindness,
auntie; good-by."

Before the old woman could recover from her astonishment, or utter a
word, Madeline had kissed her, swiftly taken up the precious package,
and was gone! Hagar hastened to the door, but the girl was speeding
swiftly down the path, and was quickly lost to view.

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" moaned Hagar, seating herself in the doorway; "her
father's passion and her mother's pride! Sorrow and trouble before
her, and she all alone; dark, dark, dark; the world against her!
Sorrow and trouble--it's in the blood! And she'll never give it up!
She'll fight her wrongs to the bitter end. Oh, my precious girl!" and
she buried her head in her apron and wept.

The sun's last ray had faded from the highest hill-top. The little
birds had folded their wings and hushed their warblings. Dark clouds
came sweeping up from the west, and one, heavy and black, passed above
the roof of Oakley, bent down, and rested there. Hagar, still
sorrowing in the doorway, saw and interpreted. Dark days to come to
the master of that overshadowed house. Dreary days and bitter
nights--ah, how many, before that cloud should be lifted from over it,
or light hearts beat beneath its roof.

"I beg pardon, madame, you appear in trouble; perhaps I intrude?"

It was Lucian Davlin's soft, lazy voice, and that disagreeable half
smile lurked about the corners of his eyes and mouth.

"I've had more welcome visitors," said the old woman, with more truth
than politeness, and rubbing her eyes with the corner of her apron,
"what do you want?"

"Only a small matter of information, which I believe you can give me."

"Well," said Hagar, testily.

"I want to make a few inquiries about Mr. Arthur of Oakley."

"About Miss Madeline, I suppose you mean. I won't tell you a word--"

"My dear, good woman, I don't ask nor wish any information regarding
that young lady--my inquiries solely concern the father. He is said to
be wealthy!"

"What is John Arthur or his money to you?" she questioned, eying him
with much disfavor.

"Nothing whatever," he indifferently replied. "I merely inquire on
behalf of a friend."

"I'll throw him off the scent if he does mean Madeline," thought the
old woman.

"Well, Mr. whatever your name is, if it will satisfy your friend to
know that Mr. John Arthur is master of Oakley, and everybody knows