The young lady kissed her again and said goodbye. But that did not end the matter--no, indeed! The news that Miss Van Ramsden had been taken to the topmost story of the Starkweather mansion--supposedly to Helen's own room only--by the Western girl, dribbled through the servants to Belle Starkweather herself when she came home.

"Now, Pa! I won't stand that common little thing being here any longer--no, I won't! Why, she did that just on purpose to make folks talk--to make people believe that we abuse her. Of course, she told May that _I_ sent her to the top story to sleep. You get rid of that girl, Pa, or I declare I'll go away. I guess I can find somebody to take me in as long as you wish to keep Prince Morrell's daughter here in _my_ place."

"Ahem! I--I must beg you to compose yourself, Belle----"

"I won't--and that's flat!" declared his eldest daughter. "Either she goes; or I do."

"Do let Belle go, Pa," drawled Flossie. "She is getting too bossy, anyway.

_I_ don't mind having Helen here. She is rather good fun. And May Van Ramsden came here particularly to see Helen."

"That's not so!" cried Belle, stamping her foot.

"It is. Maggie heard her say so. Maggie was coming up the stairs and heard May ask Helen to take her to her room. What could the poor girl do?"

"Ahem! Flossie--I am amazed at you--amazed at you!" gasped Mr.

Starkweather. "What do you learn at school?"

"Goodness me! I couldn't tell you," returned the youngest of his daughters, carelessly. "It's none of it any good, though, Pa. You might as well take me out."

"I've told that girl to use the back stairs, and to keep out of the front of the house," went on Belle, ignoring Flossie. "If she had not been hanging about the front of the house, May Van Ramsden would not have seen her----"

"'Tain't so!" snapped Flossie.

"_Will_ you be still, minx?" demanded the older sister.

"I don't care. Let's give Helen a fair deal. I tell you, Pa, May said she came particularly to see Helen. Besides, Helen had been in Hortense's room, and that is where May found her. Helen was brushing Hortense's hair.

Hortense told me so."

"Ahem! I am astonished at you, Flossie. The fact remains that Helen is a source of trouble in the house. I really do wish I knew how to get rid of her."

"You give me permission, Pa," sneered Belle, "and I'll get rid of her very quickly--you see!"

"No, no!" exclaimed the troubled father. "I--I cannot use the iron hand at present--not at present."

"Humph!" exclaimed the shrewd Belle. "I'd like to know what you are afraid of, Pa?"

Mr. Starkweather tried to frown down his daughter, but was unsuccessful.

He merely presented a picture of a very cowardly man trying to look brave.

It wasn't much of a picture.

So--as may be easily conceived--Helen was not met at dinner by her relatives in any conciliatory manner. Yet the girl from the West really wished she might make friends with Uncle Starkweather and her cousins.

"It must be that a part of the fault is with me," she told herself, when she crept up to her room after a gloomy time in the dining-room. "If I had it in me to please them--to make them happier--surely they could not treat me as they do. Oh, dear, I wish I had learned better how to be popular."

That night Helen felt about as bad as she had any time since she arrived in the great city. She was too disturbed to read. She lay in bed until the small hours of the morning, unable to sleep, and worrying over all her affairs, which seemed, since she had arrived in New York, to go altogether wrong.

She had not made an atom of progress in that investigation which she had hoped would bring to light the truth about the mystery which had sent her father and mother West--fugitives--before she was born. She had only succeeded in becoming thoroughly suspicious of her Uncle Starkweather and of Fenwick Grimes.

Nor had she made any advance in the discovery of the mysterious Allen Chesterton, the bookkeeper of her father's old firm, who held, she believed, the key to the mystery. She did not know what step to take next.

She did not know what to do. And there was n.o.body with whom she could consult--n.o.body in all this great city to whom she could go.

Never before had Helen felt so lonely as she did this night. She had money enough with her to pay somebody to help her dig back for facts regarding the disappearance of the money belonging to the old firm of Grimes & Morrell. But she did not know how to go about getting the help she needed.

Her only real confidante--Sadie Goronsky--would not know how to advise her in this emergency.

"I wish I had let Dud Stone give me his address. He said he was learning to be a lawyer," thought Helen. "And just now, I s'pose, a lawyer is what I need most. But I wouldn't know how to go about engaging a lawyer--not a good one."

She awoke at her usual time next morning, and the depression of the night before was still with her. But when she jumped up she saw that it was no longer raining. The sky was overcast, but she could venture forth without running the risk of spoiling her new suit.

And right there a desperate determination came into Helen Morrell's mind.

She had learned that on the west side of Central Park there was a riding academy. She was _hungry_ for an hour in the saddle. It seemed to her that a gallop would clear all the cobwebs away and make her feel like herself once more.

The house was still silent and dark. She took her riding habit out of the closet, made it up into a bundle, and crept downstairs with it under her arm. She escaped the watchful Lawdor for once, and got out by the area door before even the cook had crept, yawning, downstairs to begin her day's work.

Helen, hurrying through the dark, dripping streets, found a little restaurant where she could get rolls and coffee on her way to the Columbus Circle riding academy. It was still early when the girl from Sunset Ranch reached her goal. Yes, a mount was to be had, and she could change her street clothes for her riding suit in the dressing-rooms.

The city--at least, that part of it around Central Park--was scarcely awake when Helen walked her mount out of the stable and into the park. The man in charge had given her to understand that there were few riders astir so early.

"You'll have the bridle-path to yourself, Miss, going out," he said.

Helen had picked up a little cap to wear, and astride the saddle, with her hair tied with a big bow of ribbon at the nape of her neck, she looked very pretty as the horse picked his way across the esplanade into the bridle-path. But there were few, as the stableman had said, to see her so early in the morning.

It did not rain, however. Indeed, there was a fresh breeze which, she saw, was tearing the low-hung clouds to shreds. And in the east a rosy spot in the fog announced the presence of the sun himself, ready to burst through the fleecy veil and smile once more upon the world.

The trees and brush dripped upon the fallen leaves. For days the park caretakers had been unable to rake up these, and they had become almost a solid pattern of carpeting for the lawns. And down here in the bridle-path, as she cantered along, their pungent odor, stirred by the hoofs of her mount, rose in her nostrils.

This wasn't much like galloping over an open trail on a nervous little cow-pony. But it was both a bodily and mental relief for the outdoor girl who had been, for these past weeks, shut into a groove for which she was so badly fitted.

She saw n.o.body on horseback but a mounted policeman, who turned and trotted along beside her, and was pleasant and friendly. This pleased Helen; and especially was she pleased when she learned that he had been West and had "punched cows" himself. That had been some years ago, but he remembered the Link-A--now the Sunset--Ranch, although he had never worked for that outfit.

Helen's heart expanded as she cantered along. The sun dispelled the mist and shone warm upon the path. The policeman left her, but now there were other riders abroad. She went far out of town, as directed by the officer, and found the ride beautiful. After all, there were some lovely spots in this great city, if one only knew where to find them.

She had engaged a strong horse with good wind; but she did not want to break him down. So she finally turned her face toward the city again and let the animal take its own pace home.

She had ridden down as far as 110th Street and had crossed over into the park once more, when she saw a couple of riders advancing toward her from the south. They were a young man and a girl, both well mounted, and Helen noted instantly that they handled their spirited horses with ease.

Indeed, she was so much interested in the mounts themselves, that she came near pa.s.sing the two without a look at their faces. Suddenly she heard an exclamation from the young fellow, she looked up, and found herself gazing straight into the handsome face of Dudley Stone.

"For the love of heaven!" gasped that astonished young man. "It surely _is_ Helen Morrell! Jess! See here! Here's the very nicest girl who ever came out of Montana!"

Dud's sister--Helen knew she must be his sister, for she had the same coloring as and a strong family resemblance to the budding lawyer--wheeled her horse and rode directly to Helen's side.

"Oh, Miss Morrell!" she cried, putting out her gauntleted hand. "Is it really she, Dud? How wonderful!"

Helen shook hands rather timidly, for Miss Jessie Stone was torrential in her speech. There wasn't a chance to "get a word in edgewise" when once she was started upon a subject that interested her.

"My goodness me!" she cried, still shaking Helen's hand. "Is this really the girl who pulled you out of that tree, Dud? Who saved your life and took you on her pony to the big ranch? My, how romantic!