ol Carshaw has turned her head."

He tramped to and fro impatiently. His ankle had not yet forgotten the
wrench it received on the Boston Post Road. Suddenly he banged a huge
fist on a sideboard.

"Gee!" he cried, "that should turn the trick! I'll marry her off to
Fowle. If it wasn't for other considerations I'd be almost tempted--"

He paused. Even his fierce spirit quailed at the venom that gleamed from
Rachel Craik's eyes.

CHAPTER XXI

MOTHER AND SON

A telegram reached Carshaw before he left Burlington with Clancy. He
hoped it contained news of Winifred, but it was of a nature that imposed
one more difficulty in his path.

"Not later than the twentieth," wired the manager of the Carshaw Mills
in Massachusetts. Carshaw himself had inquired the latest date on which
he would be expected to start work.

The offer was his own, and he could not in honor begin the new era by
breaking his pledge. The day was Saturday, November 11. On the following
Monday week he must begin to learn the rudiments of cotton-spinning.

"What's up?" demanded Clancy, eying the telegram, for Carshaw's face had
hardened at the thought that, perhaps, in the limited time at his
disposal his quest might fail. He passed the typed slip to the
detective.

"Meaning?" said the latter, after a quick glance.

Carshaw explained. "I'll find her," he added, with a catch of the
breath. "I must find her. God in Heaven, man, I'll go mad if I don't!"

"Cut out the stage stuff," said Clancy. "By this day week the Bureau
will find a bunch of girls who're not lost yet--only planning it."

Touched by the misery in Carshaw's eyes, he added:

"What you really want is a marriage license. The minute you set eyes on
Winifred rush her to the City Hall."

"Once we meet we'll not part again," came the earnest vow. Somehow, the
pert little man's overweening egotism was soothing, and Carshaw allowed
his mind to dwell on the happiness of holding Winifred in his arms once
more rather than the uncertain prospect of attaining such bliss.

Indeed, he was almost surprised by the ardor of his love for her. When
he could see her each day, and amuse himself by playing at the pretense
that she was to earn her own living, there was a definite satisfaction
in the thought that soon they would be married, when all this pleasant
make-believe would vanish. But now that she was lost to him, and
probably enduring no common misery, the complacency of life had suddenly