Mr.

"Benjamin
however. The news that Courant had been found and identified made Quentin all
the more eager to carry out his design to restore Dorothy to her mother. He
knew, and all knew, that it was but a question of a few days until Ugo and the
police would put two and two together and come racing into the valley, certain
that Courant had been killed by the abductors of Dorothy Garrison. One
morning, therefore, shortly after the visit of Father Bivot, he asked Lord
Saxondale for the use of a conveyance, announcing his intention to drive with
Dorothy to the nearest railway station. There was dismay in the heart of
everyone who sat at what had been a cheerful breakfast table. Quentin
deliberately went on to say that he would take no lackey, preferring to expose
none but himself in the undertaking. "Can you be ready in an hour, Dorothy?" he
asked, after Saxondale had reluctantly consented. "Do you insist on carrying out
this Quixotic plan, Phil' she asked, after a long pause. "Positively." "Then, I can
be ready in half an hour," she said, earning the table abruptly. "Confound it, Phil;
she'd rather stay here," sad Dickey, miserably. "I intend to restore her to her
mother. Just the same. There's no use discussing it, Dickey. If they don't throw me
into jail at Brussels, I may return in a day or two." There was a faint flush in
Dorothy's cheeks as she bade good-bye to the party. Lady Saxondale sagely
remarked, as the trap rolled out of sight among the trees below the castle, that
the flush was product of resentment, and Dickey offered to wager 20 that she
wood be an engaged girl before she reached Brussels "Do you know the road,
Phil?" asked Dorothy, after they had gone quite a distance in silence She looked
back as she spoke, and her eyes uttered a mute farewell to the grim old pile of
stone on the crest of the hill. "Father Bivot gave me minutes directions yesterday,
and I can't miss the way. It's rather a long drive, Dorothy, and a tiresome one for
you, perhaps. But the scenery is pretty and the shade of the forest will make us
think we are again in the Bois de a Cambre. "If I were you, I wood not go to
Brussels," she said, after another long period of silence, in which she painfully
sought for means to dissuade him from entering the city. She was thinking of the
big reward for his capture and of the greedy officials who could not be denied.
"Do you think I am afraid of the consequences?" he asked, bitterly. She looked at