Lying on his pillow were a few dead leaves of an odorous mountain fern, known only to the Sierras.

They were tied together by a narrow blue ribbon, and had evidently been intended to attract his attention.

As he took them in his hand, the distinguishing subtle aroma of the little sylvan hollow in the hills came to him like a memory and a revelation! He summoned the chambermaid; she knew nothing of them, or indeed of any one who had entered his room.

He walked cautiously into the hall; the lady's sitting-room door was open, the room was empty.

"The occupant," said the chambermaid, "had left that afternoon." He held the proof of her identity in his hand, but she herself had vanished! That she had recognized him there was now no doubt: had she divined the real object of his quest, or had she accepted it as a mere sentimental gallantry at the moment when she knew it was hopeless, and she herself was perfectly safe from pursuit?
In either event he had been duped.