the frozen stretch of lawn between the house and the garage. He was
quite indifferent to the weather; his chauffeur put him into furs and
passed him his gloves and cap as a matter of course, or he might have
fared forth poorly equipped to meet the wind and storm.

He swung his machine from the cement incline into the street and turned
across Broadway. He did not wish to pass Elsie Murray ensconced in the
park pavilion with Holly Masterson at her knees; yet his thoughts were
so swayed by her that when he reached One Hundred and Thirtieth Street
he turned west again and took the ferry across the Hudson. He had no
better reason for doing so than the tranquillity and content she seemed
to draw from contemplating the opposite shore.

He sped up Fort Lee hill with a crowd of other cars, turned west and
north to escape their companionship and all the landmarks he knew. He
avoided the main highway and chose mere cross and hill roads and lanes.
Always he had before him the vivid, pretty face of Lucille, the tired
young face of Masterson and the gray eyes of Elsie Murray.

A nurse-maid! The girl who had told him the legend of Raoul Galvez, the
girl by whose standard he had come to measure himself and his companions
and who had fixed the sluggish attention of his conscience upon the
mischief being wrought by his yielding good nature--that girl was
Lucille's nurse-maid. That amazement of the night before remained with
him, coloring all other emotions. He had come out to arrange his
thoughts, but the hours passed and they remained in chaotic condition.

Near noon he was running through a narrow woodland track when a bend in
the road suddenly revealed his way blockaded by an enormous wagon that
stood before him. It was a moving van; its canvas sides distended by
bulky furniture and household fittings, its rear doors tied open to
allow a huge old-fashioned cupboard to stand between. Adriance brought
his machine to an abrupt halt."Clear the way there," he impatiently shouted to the invisible driver; "what is the matter--broken down?"The answer came, not from the concealed front of the van, but from the bank bordering on the side of the road."All right; but ain't it a shame that you blew in at dinner-time!"The reply was unexpected; Adriance looked towards the complainant's voice. In the shelter of a big boulder that gave some protection from the wind, three men were seated, each with a leather lunch-box on his knee. Two of them wore the striped aprons 

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