roads diverged from a great spreading elm. The stranger came along the opposite side of the highway, and when he reached the elm stopped and looked about him as if to verify a direction. Then he deliberately crossed over. Adela had time to see, unseen, that he was a shapely young man, with a bearded chin and a straw hat. After the due interval, Becky, the maid, came up with a card somewhat rudely superscribed in pencil:
Thomas Ludlow,
New York.
Turning it over in her fingers, Adela saw that the reverse of a card had been used, abstracted from the basket on her own drawing-room table. The printed name on the other side was dashed out; it ran: Mr. Madison Perkins.
"He asked me to give you this, ma'am," said Becky. "He helped himself to it out of the tray."
"Did he ask for me by name?"
"No, ma'am, he asked for Mr. Moore. When I told him Mr. Moore was away, he asked for some of the family. I told him you were all the family, ma'am."
"Very well," said Adela, "I will go down." But, begging her pardon, we will precede her by a few steps.
Tom Ludlow, as his friends called him, was a
