“Are there any relatives who could be asked to interfere?”

“None that I know of.”

I thought over what he had told me.

“Well,” I said at last, “I can see no harm in your meeting Miss Vaughan and finding out what the condition of affairs really is.  If her father is really mad, he may be a good deal worse now than he was when you saw him last.  It would, of course, be possible to have his sanity tested—­but his daughter would scarcely wish to do that.”

“No, of course not,” Swain agreed.

“Her letter tells you nothing?”

“Nothing except that she is in great trouble, and wishes to see me at once.”

“You are to go to the house?”

“No; there is an arbour in one corner of the grounds.  She says that she will be there at eleven-thirty every night for three nights.  After that, she says it will be no use for me to come—­that it will be too late.”

“What does she mean by ’too late’?”

“I have no idea,” he answered, and turned to another anxious perusal of the letter.

I turned the situation over in my mind.  Evidently Miss Vaughan believed that she had grave cause for alarm, and yet it was quite possible she might be mistaken.  She was being urged to consent to something against her will, but perhaps it was for her own good.  In any event, I had seen no indication that her consent was being sought by violence.  There must be no interference on our part until we were surer of our ground.

“Well, Swain,” I said, at last, “I will help you on one condition.”

“What is that?”

“You will meet Miss Vaughan to-night and hear her story, but you will take no action until you and I have talked the matter over.  She, herself, says that she has three days,” I went on, as he started to protest, “so there is no necessity for leaping in the dark.  And I would point out to you that she is not yet of age, but is still under her father’s control.”

“She is nineteen,” he protested.

“In this state, the legal age for women, as for men, is twenty-one.  The law requires a very serious reason for interfering between a child and its father.  Moreover,” I added, “she must not be compromised.  If you persuade her to accompany you to-night, where would you take her?  In no case, will I be a party to an elopement—­I will do all I can to prevent it.”

He took a short turn up and down the room, his hands clenched behind him.

“Mr. Lester,” he said, at last, stopping before me, “I want you to believe that I have not even thought of an elopement—­that would be too base, too unfair to her.  But I see that you are right.  She must not be compromised.”

“And you promise to ask my advice?”

“Suppose I make such a promise, what then?”

“If you make such a promise, and I agree with you as to the necessity for Miss Vaughan to leave her father, I think I can arrange for her to stay with Mr. and Mrs. Royce for a time.  There she will be safe.  Should legal proceedings become necessary, our firm will help you.  I want to help you, Swain,” I added, warmly, “but I must be convinced that you deserve help.  That’s reasonable, isn’t it?”