So the time wore slowly away; the afternoon faded into evening, and Mr. Warden retired early to rest, carefully attended by the kind-hearted innkeeper. The next morning rose grey and misty, and Mr. Warden could not repress a feeling of anxiety for his young friend traversing the (to him) unfamiliar mountain paths. What if he had missed his way and had been benighted in some lonely, unfrequented road. What if Isola’s people had proved treacherous, and looking upon him as his (Mr. Warden’s) emissary, had maltreated or perhaps murdered him! A hundred such suppositions rushed through his brain, as weak and feverish he lay on his couch in his sitting-room. The Docteur Lemoine came in from time to time, entreating him to calm himself, and prescribing tonics or light stimulants. Towards noon the mist began to lift, but still no sign of Lord Hardcastle. Two, three, four, five o’clock passed, and Mr. Warden started to his feet in a state of feverish excitement. “I can bear this no longer,” he said, ringing the bell violently. “We must at once organize a searching party. Doctor, don’t stand there gazing at me; we may want your help now; we have delayed too long as it is!” As he spoke the door opened, and Lord Hardcastle slowly and quietly entered the room. His face was very pale, but a look had come into his eyes, a quiet triumphant sort of look, which seemed to say plainly “we have fought a good fight and have conquered at last.” “Thank Heaven, Hardcastle, you are safe! What has happened? Tell me quickly, for I can see you have something to tell me,” said Mr. Warden, sinking back once more on to his couch. “Yes, much has happened, Mr. Warden, and I have a great deal to tell you. But you must nerve yourself to bear the news, and prepare to receive a great surprise. Doctor, where are your tonics? we shall want them just now, and then, I hope and trust, get rid of them all for ever!” “Hardcastle, Hardcastle! speak out I implore you; this is simply torture; you speak as if you had some good news to tell. Great Heavens, what good news can there be for me, with wife and daughter both dead and buried in darkness and disgrace!” “Yes, Mr. Warden, I will speak out plainly,” replied Lord Hardcastle calmly. “Are you sure both wife and daughter are dead and buried? Listen to me. When Isola came to you and told you your wife was dead, she told you a lie. This she was ordered to do by your wife, who had soon wearied of her life of sin and returned with her to these mountains. Thoroughly repentant, and anxious to repair the wrong she had done you, she framed this lie in order that you might forget her, and in a second marriage lose the recollection of the misery of the first. Isola, only too glad once more to have her young charge in her own care, faithfully fulfilled her mission. This I have heard from Isola’s own lips, and I must say truer or more passionate devotion than her’s to her mistress, I have never seen.”