She carefully pried it from the box, folded the papers just to fit the bottom, then, pressing the cushions firmly back into its place, she once more arranged her jewels in their accustomed position, and then, apparently satisfied with her work, she resumed her seat and began to write an account of her adventures to her dear one across the sea. It is said that “coming events cast their shadows before;” whether this be true or not, I cannot say, but one thing is certain, and that is that it was _well_ for Earle Wayne’s honor that Editha Dalton was guided by her impressions to so adroitly conceal John Loker’s confession just where she did and just _when_ she did. The next morning Editha did not make her appearance at the breakfast-table. This was something unusual, for the young girl had always made it a point, even since Mrs. Dalton’s death, to be neatly and attractively dressed and in her place opposite her father promptly every morning upon the ringing of the breakfast-bell. Mr. Dalton, angry at thus being obliged to wait two successive meals for her, curtly ordered a servant to go and awake her, and tell her he was waiting for her. The girl hastened to do his bidding, but soon returned, with pale and affrighted face, saying that Miss Editha was not in her chamber, her bed had not been occupied during the night, and that both sitting-room and bedroom were in the direst confusion. Mr. Dalton, was of course, instantly alarmed at this startling intelligence, and hastened at once to investigate the matter. He found it was even worse than the girl had stated. Drawers, boxes, and closets had been overturned and emptied of their contents, and lay scattered in every direction upon the floor, chairs, and bed. Clothing had been unfolded, shaken out, and then thrown hastily aside; dresses were lying over chairs, with their pockets turned inside out and rifled of their contents. Editha’s costly writing-desk was overturned upon the floor, her letters and papers scattered in every direction; and then it was for the first time that Mr. Dalton knew for a certainty of her correspondence with Earle, for stooping down to pick up these letters, he had gathered up with others those that the young man had sent across the sea to her. Never had those beautiful rooms been in such dire confusion before, and nothing seemed to be missing but Editha’s jewelry, which had been taken from its box, and that was left standing, empty and open, in its accustomed place, and a very common hat and circular waterproof, which she had been in the habit of wearing in stormy weather. Editha herself was gone—that was evident, and no one appeared to know when nor whither. Mr. Dalton was nearly stupefied at first, and the thought flashed upon him that she might have fled to Earle.