But he soon dismissed this idea, for he knew her character well enough to know that if she was bound to marry Earle Wayne she would do it boldly, openly, and in defiance of the whole world; moreover, she never would have gone away voluntarily and left things in that style, taking nothing with her for her own comfort or needs. No, it was a deep and incomprehensible mystery. Days and weeks were devoted to the search of her. Detectives were employed, the police were notified, and advertisements were inserted in all the leading papers, but all without avail; no clew could be gained as to the whereabouts of the missing girl; and Mr. Dalton was at last left entirely alone and desolate in his beautiful home. Only one thing was discovered that seemed to have any bearing on the matter, and that was her adventure with the unknown ruffian after her visit to John Loker’s house. The policeman who had rescued her gave an account of what he knew of the matter, and then Mr. Dalton went himself to see the wretched family, thinking perhaps some further information might be gleaned from them. But John Loker had died the day following Editha’s visit there, and after the funeral the family had disappeared, and no one knew anything of them. To say that Mr. Dalton was not extremely distressed over the strange affair would be very unjust to him. He availed himself of every possible means to solve the dreadful mystery; but, as we have already seen, he was an utterly selfish man, and it was not in his nature to brood over anything either troublesome or disagreeable; and the source from which he at length drew consolation may perhaps be revealed by the following soliloquy with himself, as he sat one night in the library, considering the pros and cons of the future: “If anything—ah—fatal—_should_ have—happened to Editha—if she should not be—_living_, her—fortune then will be—_mine_, I suppose.” And even while he spoke a strange look settled over his face, there was a queer quaver in his voice, and he was as white as the immaculate tie which he wore about his neck. CHAPTER XXI FATAL TRUST Twenty-one or two years before our story opens there resided in Richmond, one of the beautiful suburbs of London, the Right Honorable Warrenton Fairfield Vance, Marquis of Wycliffe, and who also possessed another title; but of that more hereafter. He was the eldest of the two children of a previous Warrenton Fairfield Vance, whose strange will created so much discussion and remark at the time of his death, several years before. There were only two children, we have said, the present marquis and his sister, who, although considerably younger than himself, had married, very early in life, a man of literary profession, though of a wealthy and respectable family—Tressalia by name. She had one child, a son, Arthur Tressalia, and father of the Paul Tressalia of our story.