A week passed before Capitola carried her resolution of calling upon
the inmate of the Hidden House into effect. It was in fact a hot,
dry, oppressive season, the last few days of August, when all
people, even the restless Capitola, preferred the coolness and
repose of indoors. But that she should stay at home more than a week
was a moral and physical impossibility. So on Thursday afternoon,
when Major Warfield set out on horseback to visit his mill, Capitola
ordered her horse saddled and brought up that she might take an
afternoon's ride.

"Now please, my dear child, don't go far," said Mrs. Condiment, "for
besides that your uncle does not approve of your riding alone, you
must hurry back to avoid the storm."

"Storm, Mrs. Condiment, why bless your dear old heart, there has not
been a storm these four weeks!" said Capitola, almost indignant that
such an absurd objection to a long ride should be raised.

"The more reason, my child, that we should have a very severe one
when it does come, and I think it will be upon us before sunset; so
I advise you to hurry home."

"Why, Mrs. Condiment, there's not a cloud in the sky."

"So much the worse, my dear! The blackest cloud that ever gathered
is not so ominous of mischief as this dull, coppery sky and still
atmosphere! And if forty years' observation of weather signs goes
for anything, I tell you that we are going to have the awfulest