Five, ten minutes passed, and then came the sound of distant hoofs. With a sigh of intense relief, Miss Jessie sent the wheeled-chair gliding smoothly off the porch, and across the lawn. The hoof-beats drew nearer, and now she heard voices. Was it her brother or Jim, and who were the others, for she distinctly heard more than one voice?
"Is it you, Donald?" she called, and in the still, clear air, her voice was audible an eighth of a mile away.
"No, Miss, it ain't Mr. Graham, it's me," came the answer in Jim's well-known voice. "I've got some folks with me."
Miss Jessie waited in silence while the hoofs and voices drew nearer. It was no uncommon thing for strangers to stop at the ranch, where they were always sure of a hospitable reception and a night's lodging. She was glad Jim was not alone. Perhaps the visitors, whoever they were, might be able to help, but how she could not imagine. It was nearly dark, and the first few stars were beginning to glimmer in the evening sky.
The horses were very near now, and she could distinguish three figures, one was Jim Hathaway, the other two were strangers.
"I beg your pardon, Madame." It was the elder of the two strangers who spoke; he had sprung from his horse, and taken off his hat. Even in the dim light Miss Jessie could see that he was a gentleman. His companion she noticed was much younger, scarcely more than a boy indeed, and he, too, was regarding her with eager, questioning eyes.
"I must introduce myself," the gentleman went on, courteously. "I think you may have heard Marjorie speak of me. I am Dr. Randolph, and this is my nephew Beverly."
Miss Jessie gave a little joyful cry, and held out both hands.
"Is it about Undine?" she whispered breathlessly. "Have you come for her, and is it really true that the child is your niece?"