particular of his life is public property, is inspected for a motive, and, if a motive cannot be discovered, one is supplied--usually mean and little, the latter unctuously preferred. All this Croyden was yet to learn, however. He took the night's express on the N. Y., P. & N., whence, at Hampton Junction, he transferred to a branch line. For twenty miles the train seemed to crawl along, burrowing into the sand hills and out again into sand, and in and out again, until, at length, with much whistling and escaping steam, they wheezed into the station and stopped. There were a dozen white men, with slouch hats and nondescript clothing, standing aimlessly around, a few score of negroes, and a couple of antique carriages with horses to match. The white men looked at the new arrival, listlessly, and the negroes with no interest at all --save the two who were porters for the rival hotels. They both made for Croyden and endeavored to take his grip. He waved them away. "I don't want your hotel, boys," he said. "But if you can tell me where Clarendon is, I will be obliged." "Cla'endon! seh? yass, seh," said one, "right out at de een' o' de village, seh--dis street tek's yo dyar, seh, sho nuf." "Which end of the village?" Croyden asked. "Dis een', seh, de fust house beyon' Majah Bo'den's, seh." "How many blocks is it?" "Blocks, seh!" said the negro. "'Tain't no blocks--it's jest de fust place beyon' Majah Bo'den's." Croyden laughed. "Here," he said, "you take my bag out to Clarendon--I'll walk till I find it." "Yass, seh! yass, seh! I'll do it, seh! but yo bettah ride, seh!" "No!" said Croyden, looking at the vehicle. "It's safer to walk." He tossed the negro a quarter and turned away. "Thankee, seh, thankee, seh, I'll brings it right out, seh." Croyden went slowly down the street, while the crowd stared after him, and the shops emptied their loafers to join them in the staring. He was a strange man--and a well-dressed man--and they all were curious. Presently, the shops were replaced by dwellings of the humbler sort, then they, in turn, by more pretentious residences--with here and there a new one of the Queen Anne type. Croyden did not need the information, later vouchsafed, that they belong to new people. It was as unmistakable as the houses themselves. About a mile from the station, he passed a place built of English brick, covered on the sides by vines, and shaded by huge trees. It stood well back from the street and had about it an air of aristocracy and exclusiveness. "I wonder if this is the Bordens'?" said Croyden looking about him for some one to ask--"Ah!" Down the path from the house was coming a young woman. He slowed down, so as to allow her to reach the entrance gates ahead of him. She was pretty, he saw, as she neared--very pretty!--positively 

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