e farmhouse?"

"There is none," she returned, with her old superciliousness, "unless
you choose to give that name to the shanties and sheds where the
laborers and servants live, near the road."

The stranger looked puzzled. "I'm looking for a Mr. Dawson," he said
reflectively, "but I may have made some mistake. Do you know Major
Randolph's house hereabouts?"

"I do. I am Mrs. Randolph," she said stiffly.

The stranger's brow cleared, and he smiled pleasantly. "Then this is a
fortunate meeting," he said, raising his hat again as he reined in his
horse beside the wagon, "for I am Mr. Mallory, and I was looking forward
to the pleasure of presenting myself to you an hour or two later. The
fact is, an old acquaintance, Mr. Dawson, telegraphed me yesterday to
meet him here on urgent business, and I felt obliged to go there first."

Mrs. Randolph's eyes sparkled with a sudden gratified intelligence, but
her manner seemed rather to increase than abate its grim precision.

"Our meeting this morning, Mr. Mallory, is both fortunate and
unfortunate, for I regret to say that your daughter, who has not been
quite herself since the earthquake, was missing early this morning and
has not yet been found, though we have searched everywhere. Understand
me," she said, as the stranger started, "I have no fear for her PERSONAL
safety, I am only concerned for any INDISCRETION that she may commit in
the presence of these strangers whose company she would seem to prefer
to ours."

"But I don't understand you, madam," said Mallory, sternly; "you are
speaking of my daughter, and"--

"Excuse me, Mr. Mallory," said Mrs. Randolph, lifting her hand with
her driest deprecation and her most desiccating smile, "I'm not passing
judgment or criticism. I am of a foreign race, and consequently do not
understand the freedom of American young ladies, and their familiarity
with the opposite sex. I make no charges, I only wish to assure you that
she will no doubt be found in the company and under the protection of
her own countrymen. There is," she added with ironical distinctness, "a
young mechanic, or field hand, or 'quack well-doctor,' whom she seems to
admire, and with whom she appears to be on equal terms."

Mallory regarded her for a moment fixedly, and then his sternness
relaxed to a mischievously complacent smile. "That must be young Bent,
of whom I've heard," he said with unabated cheerfulness. "And I don't
know but what she may be with him, a