The “piles and piles” had resolved themselves into five letters. Harcourt sat down on the first seat that offered, glanced at the dates on the postmarks, and selected the latest, as having the last news, and that was three weeks old. It had been written, at the instance of old Martha, by the hand of May Wynthrop, imploring Mr. Harcourt to come and see his mother, who was in good bodily health, but who was pining to see him. “She was in good health three weeks ago, thank heaven! And yet she must have suffered several weeks of suspense and anxiety previous to that. I must lose no more time, but take this night’s train for Logwood,” Harcourt thought to himself. He opened and read the other letters, but they were all to the same purport. When he had finished them all he put a strong constraint upon himself, and inquired: “Can you tell me anything about the young married couple who came down here last November to spend their honeymoon on the Isle of Storms?” For all answer, “mine host” lifted up his head, pursed up his lips, and gave a long whistle. “What does that mean?” inquired Harcourt. The landlord grew very grave. “See here, young gentleman,” he said solemnly, “I don’t know the rights of it, but this is certain—bride and groom quarreled and parted before they became husband and wife.” “What!” demanded Harcourt, starting to his feet. “It is a positive fact, I do assure you. The marriage never went any further than the ceremony. The contract never went into effect. The bride swore that she was married to the man without her own knowledge or consent, and that she would never acknowledge him as her husband. Passing strange, but true as truth.” Harcourt dropped into his chair again, overwhelmed with emotion. “Well?” he exclaimed. “Well, what next? What became of her?” “She managed to communicate with her friends, and they came—a middle-aged gentleman and lady—and they took her off the island. The party stopped here, though I didn’t know the least in the world who they were, or that the beautiful young woman was the bride, or that there was any trouble. It was long after they left here that I found out all about it.” “How did you find out at last?” inquired Harcourt. “Through things that happened. On the very afternoon the bride left the island with her friends one of the most terrible storms that ever visited these parts came up. That was why the party stopped here instead of going right on, as they meant to have done. Well, among other damage that the storm did, it carried away the boats and boathouses from the island, and left the people cut off from communication with the mainland and the rest of the world. But in a week or ten days after there comes a fine, fast-sailing yacht to the isle, and stays a few hours, and then sails away again. And we all here, knowing nothing about the real facts, thought the bride and groom had gone off on a cruise, probably to southern waters—coast of Florida, Gulf of Mexico, or the West Indies.”