"'I am at your mercy,' she said, and added, 'but not more than at his.'

"'Is this a case of conspiracy or violence?' your father asked.

"She shook her head. 'I cannot accuse him. I came of my own free will. That
is why I am helpless now.'

"'I do not see how I can help you,' said father.

"'You can help me to gain time. One hour is all I ask. Will you or not?'
she said. 'Be quick! He is coming.'

"'I must go with you, then,' your father answered, 'I will take you to this
address, but I need not tell you the house is empty.'

"'There are people in the coachman's lodge,' she answered. Then her
companion approached, and no more was said.

"But the counter-elopement was accomplished as only your father could
manage such a matter on the spur of the moment--consequences accepted with
his usual philosophy and bonhomie. If he could have foreseen _all_ the
consequences, he would not, I think, have refused to give her his name.

"He left her at the side entrance, where she rang and was admitted by an
oldish, respectable looking man, who recognized her evidently with the
greatest surprise. Then your father carried out her final order to wire
Norwood Benedet, Jr., at Burlingame, to come home that night to the house
address and save--she did not say whom or what; there she broke off,
demanding that your father compose a message that should bring him as sure
as life and death, but tell no tales. I do not know how she may have put