Fogerty did not reply.  Perhaps he realized the case was entirely hopeless.  But he had done what he could to save the misguided fellow and give him a chance, and he was sorry he had not succeeded.

Meantime Arthur Weldon, almost dazed by the calamity that had overtaken his sweetheart, found an able assistant in his chauffeur, who, when the case was explained to him, developed an eager and intelligent interest in the chase.  Fortunately they moved with the storm and the snow presently moderated in volume although the wind was still blowing a fierce gale.  This gave them a better opportunity than the others to observe the road they followed.

Jones had good eyes, and although the trail of the heavy wagon was lost at times he soon picked it up again and they were enabled to make fairly good speed.

“I believe,” said Arthur, presently, “that the marks are getting clearer.”

“I know they are, sir,” agreed Jones.

“Then we’ve come in the right direction, for it is proof that the wagon was headed this way.”

“Quite right, sir.”

This back section was thinly settled and the occasional farm-houses they passed were set well back from the road.  It was evident from the closed gates and drifted snowbanks that no teams had either left these places or arrived during a recent period.  Arthur was encouraged, moreover, by the wagon ruts growing still more clear as they proceeded, and his excitement was great when Jones abruptly halted and pointed to a place where the wheels had made a turn and entered a farm yard.

“Here’s the place, sir,” announced the chauffeur.

“Can you get in?”

“It’s pretty deep, sir, but I’ll try.”

The snow was crisp and light, owing to the excessive cold, and the machine plowed through it bravely, drawing up at last to the door of an humble cottage.

As Arthur leaped out of the car a man appeared upon the steps, closing the door softly behind him.

“Looking for the young lady, sir?” he asked.

“Is she here?” cried Arthur.

The man placed his finger on his lips, although the wind prevented any sound of voices being heard within.

“Gently, sir, don’t make a noise—­but come in.”

They entered what seemed to be a kitchen.  The farmer, a man of advanced years, led him to a front room, and again cautioning him to be silent, motioned him to enter.

A sheet-iron stove made the place fairly comfortable.  By a window sat a meek-faced woman, bent over some sewing.  On a couch opposite lay Louise, covered by a heavy shawl.  She was fast asleep, her hair disheveled and straying over her crimson cheeks, flushed from exposure to the weather.  Her slumber seemed the result of physical exhaustion, for her lips were parted and she breathed deeply.

Arthur, after gazing at her for a moment with a beating-heart, for the mysterious actions of the old farmer had made him fear the worst, softly approached the couch and knelt beside the girl he loved, thanking; God in his inmost heart for her escape.  Then he leaned over and pressed a kiss upon her cheek.