Quick as flash he snatched the lines from his companion's hands and struck the spirited pony a sharp blow with the slender whip.
Moments elapsed, however, before Sir Frederic could explain the situation to his friend and their stupid driver. Vehicles were constantly passing and when they were finally in readiness to pursue, the pony phaeton had vanished.
The necessary papers were secured after much trouble and expense and a description of Maurice Sinclair, as he now appeared, furnished the Detective Bureau, but all to no purpose. Maurice had again evaded capture.
The lady was readily found in one of the most fashionable homes on Fifth Avenue, but her information was limited. She denied that her companion was Maurice Sinclair, but that was of little consequence as it was more than probable he had adhered to the precaution of an assumed name, if nothing more.
For fear of further publicity, the parents of the young lady removed her promptly from the city, and another two months passed while Chicago, St. Louis and even the Pacific slope were thoroughly searched for the missing man.
At the end of that time Sir Frederic was forced to return to London by family matters and the search for his loved one was extended at every spare moment of his time.
Meanwhile, Stella was still a prisoner in that quiet house with its scarlet furnishings. In the entire time of her confinement she had never passed the threshold of her door or seen the faces of the other inmates whose voices reached her so indistinctly through the heavy hangings.
Julia Webber gave her every care and attention, but every entreaty for liberty was met with the same gentle but decided answer, "Wait, Miss Sinclair,—You and I will leave this place together, but my house must be empty, first."
Tired of questions that received no answers and prayers that were unavailing, Stella waited patiently and sadly for the hour of her release.
At last it came.