many
delicate little affairs successfully, here in the city, that, as a
combination, we are pretty well known just now; too well, in fact, for
our own ease and comfort. Your supposed trip to Europe was a lucky
thing, and will throw all officiously-interested ones off your track
completely. I shall limit my operations here for a time; shall make
this merely headquarters, in fact, and 'prospect,' like yourself, in
fresh fields. And now, it being nearly morning, and quite necessary
that you should be on your victorious march, let us consider final
ways and means."

In a concise, business-like way, they arranged and discussed, the
result of the whole being briefly this:

Cora would drive at early dawn to a suburban station, and from thence
go by rail to a village midway between the city and her final
destination; and there await her luggage, and the arrival of Lucian.
He would join her shortly, and proceed with her to Bellair, in his
character of brother; see her comfortably settled, and leave her to
her new undertaking.

And thus it was that in the gray of morning a veiled lady,
sweet-voiced and elegant in manner, stepped from a close carriage at a
little wayside station, and sped away at the heels of the iron horse.

And thus it was that Lucian Davlin, reappearing in Bellair and
listening in well simulated surprise to the story of the sudden
disappearance of John Arthur's step-daughter, effectually put to
flight any idea--forming in the brains of the few who knew, or
conjectured, that these two had met--that he had aught to do with her
mysterious flitting. In truth, none save old Hagar knew of the
frequency of their clandestine meetings, and she never breathed to
others the thoughts and suspicions that haunted her brain.

And thus it was, too, that Cora Weston, in her new _role_ of
languishing widow, secluded carefully from the vulgar gaze, heard
never a word of Madeline's flight. And when, later, the fact was
revealed to her, none save old Hagar could have named the precise date
of the event. So even wise Cora never connected the fate of the
unfortunate girl with the doings of Lucian Davlin.

CHAPTER VI.

A WARNING.

Early morning in the great city, but the buzz and clamor were fairly
under way, and the streets as full of busy, pushing, elbowing life as
if night and silence had never rested above the tall roofs and chimney
pots.

With the rattle of the first cart wheel on the pavement, Madeline had