"I think the rôle of widow might interest me for a little time, so I'll take myself and my 'delicate constitution' down to your promising haven of rest. I'll 'view the landscape o'er,' and the prospect of an opportunity for a little sharp practice will make my banishment more endurable; of course, my resignation will increase as the situation becomes more interesting." "Which it is sure to do," he said, rising quickly and crossing to the window. "The thing is as good as done; you always accomplish what you undertake; and you'll find the game worth the powder. The fact is, Cora," he continued, seriously, "you and I have engineered so many delicate little affairs successfully, here in the city, that, as a combination, we are pretty well known just now; too well, in fact, for our own ease and comfort. Your supposed trip to Europe was a lucky thing, and will throw all officiously-interested ones off your track completely. I shall limit my operations here for a time; shall make this merely headquarters, in fact, and 'prospect,' like yourself, in fresh fields. And now, it being nearly morning, and quite necessary that you should be on your victorious march, let us consider final ways and means." In a concise, business-like way, they arranged and discussed, the result of the whole being briefly this: Cora would drive at early dawn to a suburban station, and from thence go by rail to a village midway between the city and her final destination; and there await her luggage, and the arrival of Lucian. He would join her shortly, and proceed with her to Bellair, in his character of brother; see her comfortably settled, and leave her to her new undertaking.[64] [64] And thus it was that in the gray of morning a veiled lady, sweet-voiced and elegant in manner, stepped from a close carriage at a little wayside station, and sped away at the heels of the iron horse. And thus it was that Lucian Davlin, reappearing in Bellair and listening in well simulated surprise to the story of the sudden disappearance of John Arthur's step-daughter, effectually put to flight any idea—forming in the brains of the few who knew, or conjectured, that these two had met—that he had aught to do with her mysterious flitting. In truth, none save old Hagar knew of the frequency of their clandestine meetings, and she never breathed to others the thoughts and suspicions that haunted her brain. And thus it was, too, that Cora Weston, in her new rôle of
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