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"Then Ned Ferry doesn't drink?"

"I suppose we might call him a romanticist," said I, "might we not?"

I averted my face and answered with a nod.

"I don't believe you! I don't believe you ever had cause for one!" She laid a hand again upon mine.

"I haven't been ordered to tell any one where I'm going."

"No; no, Richard, I wanted, and I still want, you to take care of me! But go, now, go! at once or not at all! Good-bye!" She laughed and fluttered away. I sprang upon my horse and sped into the forest.

It was the envelope which had contained Coralie Rothvelt's pass. Its four flaps were spread open, and on the inside was scrawled in a large black writing the following:

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