He says I'm ill. He wants to take me to California, but I don't dare I don't dare! Harry Green would be sure to follow. I know him oh, how well I know him! He would " A servant came in to announce that Miss Carrithers was down stairs. "Ask her to come up," sighed Agatha. "I'll tell her myself that I don't want to see her, but it won't mean anything to Betty. She'll stay all morning."

Tell him to stop at the St. Charles." Then he turned and spoke to the giants, who solemnly nodded their heads and climbed into a cab close by. Green seated himself beside Miss Carrithers. There was a hunted look in his eyes and a nervous tremor in his voice. "A sort of bodyguard, as it were, Betty. By the way, you haven't seen Agatha Holmes, have you? I telegraphed to her."

"I know, but not just like this one. My husband wants to take me to California. I wish oh, how I wish I could go! But Harry would follow I know he'll be merciless." Miss Carrithers was thoughtful for several minutes, paying slight heed to the doleful sobs from the bed. "I'll tell you what, Agatha," she said at last; "I believe this affair can be managed easily enough if you will just leave town."

Miss Carrithers had braced herself for this question and she also had prepared an answer. She could not look at his face, however, despite her determination. "Agatha Holmes! Is it possible you haven't heard? Don't you know that that she is married?" She knew in her heart it was a cruel blow, but it was the best way, after all.

"Yes, ma'am," agreed the maid as she hurried away. A moment later Miss Carrithers fairly bounded into the darkened bed-chamber, her face full of excitement. "Have you heard?" she gasped, dropping upon the side of the bed. "Harry Green's coming home. He's in New York now. Joe Pierce had a telegram." "Yes, I know," said Agatha drearily.

Instead, the tall fellow who came forth was attired in the most modern English garments; he was brown, fresh-faced, keen-eyed and prosperous looking. The same old Harry Green grown stronger, handsomer, more polished. His black eyes were sweeping the street anxiously as if in search of some one. He did not see Betty Carrithers, and her heart sank. Behind him stalked two gigantic negroes.

"The only thing I can think of, Betty, is that miserable ruby. I've got to recover it and sail for South America inside of ten days. And she's in California! Did you ever hear of such luck?" Betty Carrithers walked over and looked from the window. The giant black was still under the street lamp and she could not repress a shudder as she glanced from time to time to the man on the couch.

"I'd give anything if it belonged to me." "Now, excuse me a minute, dear. I'll telephone to Jimmy and tell him we'll start for California tonight. Harry gets here tomorrow at 4:45 on the limited." "You can be well out of the way by that time," said pretty Miss Carrithers with a smile. "And now, Betty, you will send him back to Patagonia, won't you?"

She poured her story into the ears of her too loyal friend, who smiled confidently in response to her apprehensions. Miss Carrithers did not exchange confidences, however; she merely gave promises to do her best.

"I'll keep him away from California, my dear, that's all." Miss Carrithers sat in her carriage outside the railroad station, waiting for the train that was to bring Harry Green into New Orleans. Outwardly she was cool, placid; inwardly she was a fever of emotions. He had telegraphed the time of his arrival to Agatha; Betty received and read the message. Mr. and Mrs.