“I must decline to answer you.”

“But I will not accept any denial!  Miss Lee, you know what Margie was to me.  There has arisen a fearful misunderstanding between us.  I must have it explained.  Why will you trifle with me?  You must tell me what you know.”

“I do not wish to arouse suspicions, Mr. Trevlyn, which may have no foundation to rest on.  Only for your peace of mind do I withhold any information I may possess on the subject.”

“It is a cruel kindness.  Tell me everything at once, I beg of you!”

“Then, if it distresses you, do not blame me; Peter saw Mr. Louis Castrani at the depot, and is confident he went in the same train, in the same car, with Miss Harrison.”

“Castrani!  Great Heaven!” he staggered into a chair.  “Is it possible?  Margie, my Margie, that I thought so good and pure and truthful, false to me!  It cannot, cannot be!  I will not believe it!”

“I do not ask you to,” said Alexandrine, proudly.  “I insinuated nothing.  I only replied to your question.”

“Pardon me, Miss Lee.  I am not quite myself this morning.  I will go now.  I thank you for what you have told me, and trust it will all be explained.”

“I trust so,” answered Miss Lee, turning to leave the room.

“Stay a moment!  To what depot did Peter drive her?”

“The Northern, I think he said.”

“Again I thank you, and good-morning.”

He hurried away, got into the first coach he came across, and was driven to the Northern depot.

He was somewhat acquainted with the ticket agent, and assuming as nonchalant an air as was possible in his present disturbed state, he strolled into the office.  After a little indifferent conversation, he said.

“By the way, Harris, do you know Mr. Castrani, the young Cuban, who has turned the heads of so many of our fair belles?  Some one was telling me that he left town this morning.”

“Castrani!  Yes, I think I do.  He did leave for the North this morning, in the early express.  I marked his baggage for him.  He had been hurried so in his preparations, he said, that he had no time for it.”

“Indeed?  It’s a bore to be hurried.  Where was he checked to?”

“Well, really, the name of the place has escaped me.  Some little town in New Hampshire or Maine, I think.  We do so much of this business that my memory is treacherous about such things.”

“Were you speaking of Castrani?” asked Tom Clifford, a friend of Archer’s removing his cigar from his mouth.  “Deuced fine fellow!  Wish I had some of his spare shillings.  Though he’s generous as a prince.  Met him this morning just as he was coming down the steps of the Astor.  Had to get up early to see after that confounded store of mine.  Walker’s too lazy to open it mornings.”

“You met Mr. Castrani?” said Archer, referring to the point.

“Yes.  He told me he was going away.  Woman somewhere mixed up in the case.  Said he expected to find one somewhere—­well, hanged if I can tell where.  There’s always a woman at the bottom of everything.”