ng for a young woman."

"Well, she's gone and you can't reach her to-night. There they are now,
see! about a quarter of the way across. That small boat just slipping
across the wake of the big one."

Mr. Gryce looked and saw that she was in the way of escape for to-night.

"When can I get over?" he asked.

"Not till Phil crosses again to-morrow noon."

"Meanwhile, she may go anywhere. I shall certainly lose her."

"Hardly. She's bound for the factory; you can just see the roof of
it above the trees a little to the right. She asked me all sorts of
questions about the work over there, and whether there were decent places
to live in within walking distance of the factory."

"Then she isn't lame? My woman is a trifle lame."

"So may this woman be, for all I know. I didn't see her on her feet, but
she carried no crutch--only a bag and an umbrella."

"A brown bag, neat like herself in appearance?"

"No. It was light in color and old. She herself was neat enough."

Mr. Gryce's brows came together. He was in a quandary. He felt convinced,
with a positiveness which surprised him, that in watching the withdrawal
of this small boat farther and farther toward the opposite shore, he was
watching the escape of Antoinette Duclos from his immediate interference.

Yet, circumstantial as were the proofs which had led him to this
conclusion, he felt that he would gladly welcome some further
corroboration of those proofs before risking the time and opportunity he
might lose in following the person of two skirts to her destination on
the other side of the Hudson. There were more reasons than one why he
could not afford to lose one unnecessary minute. An extra twinge or two
of rheumatism warned him that he was approaching the point of
disablement.

Moreover, of Mr. Gryce's secret fears there was one which loomed larger
than the others and held an impulsive, unconsidered movement in check.
He must have proof of her identity--which nevertheless he did not
question--before hazarding himself and the success of his undertaking
by a delay of so many additional hours. But what proof could he hope
to obtain under the circumstances in which he found himself placed?
Any appeal to Mrs. Edouard Duclos, by telephone or telegram, would
certainly fail of its purpose. Even if the neat black dress in which her
sister-in-law now traveled was one from her own wardrobe, he would find
it impossible to establish the fact in time to make his own deci