Strange are the glances turned upon her; strange, though not inexplicable: for it is Louise Poindexter who occupies the carriage.
Is she there of her own accord—by her own free will?
So runs the inquiry around, and the whispered reflections that follow it.
There is not much time allowed them for speculation. They have their answer in the crier’s voice, heard pronouncing the name—
“Louise Poindexter!”
Calhoun has kept his word.