"No, sir. No letters passed between us; there was no need to write, I saw her so often--four or five times a week. 'When father and mother know everything,' she said on Tuesday night, 'you shall write to me every day.' I promised that I would." "I am not sorry you confided in me," I said, completely won over by the young man's ingenuousness and undoubted sincerity; "but I can offer you no words of comfort. You will have to make this known to others." "I shall do what is right, sir. It is not in your power, nor in any man's, to give me any comfort or consolation. The happiness of my life is destroyed--but there is still one thing left me, and I will not rest till it is accomplished. As God is my judge, I will not!" He did not give me time to ask his meaning, but continued: "You can do me the greatest favour, sir." "What is it?" "I must see Mary--her sister, sir. Can you send round to the house, and ask her to come and see me here? She _will_ come when she gets my message. Will you do this for me, sir?" "Yes," I replied, "there is no harm in it." I called my wife, and bade her go to Mr. Melladew's house, and contrive to see Mary Melladew privately, and give her the young man's message. During my wife's absence George Carton and I exchanged but few words. He sat for the chief part of the time with his head resting on his hand, and I was busy thinking whether the information he had imparted to me would be likely to afford a clue to the discovery of the murderer. My wife returned with consternation depicted on her face. "Mary is not at home," she said. "Where has she gone?" cried George Carton, starting up. To my astonishment my wife replied, "They are in the greatest trouble about her. She has not been home all the day." "Have they not seen anything of her?" I asked, also rising to my feet. "No," said my wife, "they have seen nothing whatever of her." "Is it possible," I exclaimed, "that she can be still at her place of business, in ignorance of what has taken place?" "No," cried George Carton, in great excitement, "she is not there. I have been to inquire. She went out last night, and never returned. Great God! What can be the meaning of it?" I strove in vain to calm him. He paced the room with flashing eyes, muttering to himself words so wild that I could not arrive at the least understanding of them. "Gone! Gone!" he cried at last. "But where, where? I will not sleep, I will not rest, till I find her! Neither will I rest till I discover the murderer of my darling girl! And when I discover him, when he stands before me, as there is a living God, I will kill him with my own hands!" His passion was so intense that I feared he would there and then commit some act of violence, and I made an endeavour to restrain and calm him by throwing my arms around him; but he broke from me with a torrent of frantic words, and rushed out of the house.