"That is so, Mr. Gilland."

"Oh! And what is this object that I am to look for and from which you
fled five hundred miles?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know what you ran away from?"

"No, sir. Perhaps if I had known I should have run a thousand miles."

We eyed one another.

"You think, then, that I'd better send Miss Barrison back to New
York?" I asked.

"I certainly do. It may be murder to take her."

"Then I'll do it!" I said, nervously. "Back she goes from the first
railroad station."

In a flash the thought came to me that here was a way to avoid the
wrath of Professor Farrago--and a good excuse, too. He might forgive
my not bringing a man as stenographer in view of my limited time; he
never would forgive my presenting him with a woman.

"She must go back," I repeated; and it rather surprised me to find
myself already anticipating loneliness--something that never in all my
travels had I experienced before.