I must find him, but where and how!  I confess for a moment that I doubted my own father, who can be very feirce on ocasion.  What if, madened by his mistake about Beresford, he had, on being aproached by Adrian, been driven to violance?  What if, in my endeaver to help one who was unworthy, I had led my poor paternal parent into crime?

Hell is paved with good intentions.  Samuel Johnston.

On driving madly into the mill yard, I sudenly remembered that it was Saturday and a half holaday.  The mill was going, but the offices were closed.  Father, then, was imured in the safety of his Club, and could not be reached except by pay telephone.  And the taxi was now ninty cents.

I got out, and paid the man.  I felt very dizzy and queer, and was very thirsty, so I went to the hydrent in the yard and got a drink of water.  I did not as yet suspect meazles, but laid it all to my agony of mind.

Haveing thus refreshed myself, I looked about, and saw the yard Policeman, a new one who did not know me, as I am away at school most of the time, and the Familey is not expected to visit the mill, because of dirt and possable accidents.

I aproached him, however, and he stood still and stared at me.

“Officer” I said, in my most dignafied tones.  “I am looking for a—­for a Gentleman who came here this morning to look for work.”

“There was about two hundred lined up here this morning, Miss,” he said.  “Which one would it be, now?”

How my heart sank!

“About what time would he be coming?” he said.  “Things have been kind of mixed-up around here today, owing to a little trouble this morning.  But perhaps I’ll remember him.”

But, although Adrian is of an unusual tipe, I felt that I could not describe him, besides having a terrable headache.  So I asked if he would lend me carfare, which he did with a strange look.

“You’re not feeling sick, Miss, are you?” he said.  But I could not stay to converce, as it was then time for the curtain to go up, and still no Adrian.

I had but one refuge in mind, Carter Brooks, and to him I fled on the wings of misery in the street car.  I burst into his advertizing office like a furey.

“Where is he?” I demanded.  “Where have you and your plotting hidden him?”

“Who?  Beresford?” he asked in a placid maner.  “He is at his hotel, I beleive, putting beefstake on a bad eye.  Beleive me, Bab——­”

“Beresford!” I cried, in scorn and wrechedness.  “What is he to me?  Or his eye either?  I refer to Mr. Egleston.  It is time for the curtain to go up now, and unless he has by this time returned, there can be no performence.”

“Look here,” Carter said sudenly, “you look awfuly queer, Bab.  Your face——­”

I stamped my foot.

“What does my face matter?” I demanded.  “I no longer care for him, but I have ruined Miss Everett’s couzin’s play unless he turns up.  Am I to be sent to Switzerland with that on my Soul?”