“I haven’t seen Arabella and I never sent you this telegram,” declared the Senator. “I was brought here myself by a fraudulent message.” He drew a telegram from his pocket and read impressively:
Arabella has eloped. Am in pursuit. Meet me at your house in Corydon Thursday evening.
Sallie Collingwood.
The stout lady’s vigorous repudiation of this telegram consumed much time, but did not wholly appease the Senator. He irritably waved her aside, remarking sarcastically:
“It seems to me, Sallie Collingwood, that your presence here requires some explanation. I agreed to give you the custody of Arabella while Frances and I were settling our difficulties, because I thought you had wits enough to take care of her. Now you appear to have relinquished your charge, and without giving me any notice whatever. I had supposed, even if you are my wife’s sister, that you would let no harm come to my daughter.”
“I’ll trouble you, Tracy Banning, to be careful how you speak to me!” Miss Collingwood replied. “Poor Arabella was crushed by your outrageous behavior, and if any harm has come to her it’s your fault. She remained with me on the Dashing Rover for two weeks; and last Saturday, when I anchored in Boston Harbor to file proceedings against the captain of a passenger boat who had foully tried to run me down off Cape Ann, she ran away. Last night a telegram from her reached me at Beverly saying you were effecting a reconciliation and asking me to be here tonight to join in a family jollification. Meantime I had wired to the Gadsby Detective Agency to search for Arabella and asked them to send a man here.”
“Reconciliation,” exploded the lady with the lorgnette, “has never been considered! And if I’ve been brought here merely to be told that you have allowed Arabella to walk off your silly schooner into the Atlantic Ocean——”
“You may as well calm yourself, Frances. There’s no reason for believing that either Tracy or I had a thing to do with this outrage.”
“Well, Bishop Giddings is with me; he, too, has been lured here by some one. We met on the train quite by chance and I shall rely on his protection.”
A black-bearded gentleman, who had followed Mrs. Banning into the hall and quietly peeled off a raincoat, was now disclosed in the garb of a clergyman—the Bishop of Tuscarora, Farrington assumed. He viewed the company quizzically, remarking: