echo of an idea that only at that moment sprung up in his mind? If it
was real it came from the street parallel with the one he was in. Who
could be driving out at this time? What other buggy than his own could
be found to desecrate this Christian Sabbath? An irresistible thought
impelled him at the risk of recognition to quicken his pace and turn the
corner as Richard Demorest drove up to the Independence Hotel, sprang
from his buggy, throwing the reins over the dashboard, and disappeared
into the hotel!

Blandford stood still, but for an instant only. He had been wandering
for an hour aimlessly, hopelessly, without consecutive idea, coherent
thought or plan of action; without the faintest inspiration or
suggestion of escape from his bewildering torment, without--he had begun
to fear--even the power to conceive or the will to execute; when a wild
idea flashed upon him with the rattle of his buggy wheels. And even
as Demorest disappeared into the hotel, he had conceived his plan and
executed it. He crossed the street swiftly, leaped into his buggy,
lifted the reins and brought down the whip simultaneously, and the next
instant was dashing down the street in the direction of the Warensboro
turnpike. So sudden was the action that by the time the astonished hall
porter had rushed into the street, horse and buggy had already vanished
in the darkness.

Presently it began to snow. So lightly at first that it seemed a mere
passing whisper to the ear, the brush of some viewless insect upon the
cheek, or the soft tap of unseen fingers on the shoulders. But by the
time the porter returned from his hopeless and invisible chase of
the "runaway," he came in out of a swarming cloud of whirling flakes,
blinded and whitened. There was a hurried consultation with the
landlord, the exhibition of much imperious energy and some bank-notes