Oh, miss, don't you do no sich thing! Ole Marse kill me!
I heerd him t'reaten all de men and maids how if dey telled you
anything 'bout de new neighbor, how he'd skin dem alive!"

"Won't he skin you?" asked Cap.

"No, miss, not 'less you 'form ag'in me, 'case he 'didn't tell me not
to tell you, 'case you see he didn't think how I knowed! But,
leastways, I know from what I heard, ole marse wouldn't have you to
know nothin' about it, no, not for de whole worl'."

"He does not want me to call at the Hidden House! That's it! Now why
doesn't he wish me to call there? I shall have to go in order to find
out, and so I will," thought Cap.

CHAPTER III.

CAP'S VISIT TO THE HIDDEN HOUSE

And such a night "she" took the road in
As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in.
The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last
The rattling showers rose on the blast;
The speedy gleams the darkness swallowed
Loud, deep and long the thunder bellowed;
That night a child might understand
The de'il had business on his hand.

--BURNS.

A week passed before Capitola carried her resolution of calling upon
the inmate of the Hidden House into effect. It was in fact a hot, dry,
oppressive season, the last few days of August, when all people, even
the restless Capitola, preferred the coolness and repose of indoors.
But that she should stay at home more than a week was a moral and
physical impossibility. So on Thursday afternoon, when Major Warfield
set out on horseback to visit his mill, Capitola ordered her horse
saddled and brought up that she might take an afternoon's ride.

"Now please, my dear child, don't go far," said Mrs. Condiment, "for
besides that your uncle does not approve of your riding alone, you must
hurry back to avoid the storm."

"Storm, Mrs. Condiment, why bless your dear old heart, there has not
been a storm these four weeks!" said Capitola, almost indignant that
such an absurd objection to a long ride should be raised.

"The more reason, my child, that we should have a very severe one when
it does come, and I think it will be upon us before sunset; so I advise
you to hurry home."

"Why, Mrs. Condiment, there's not a cloud in the sky."

"So much the worse, my dear! The blackest cloud that ever gathered is
not so ominous of mischief as this dull, coppery sky and still
atmosphere! And if forty years' observation of weather signs goes for
anything, I tel