"Of course! I doubt if you ever asked him," Maud cries, irritably. "But, Reine, what is the matter? You look white and scared? What has happened?" "Vane--Mr. Charteris has gone away," Reine falters, miserably. "Gone away--of course. That was the condition on which he married you. He said he could marry you, but he could not live with you." "Maud, why do you tell me these horrible things?" falters the wretched young bride. "To make you as wretched as I am," Maud breaks out, with vindictive passion in her voice and face. "But it is all true, every word. He said he would stay away a year, and Mr. Langton must train you to be such a woman as he could respect and honor; a woman," triumphantly, "like me." "God forbid!" Reine says, with a stifled gasp, turning her white face away that Maud may not see the hopeless pain that shadows the brightness. The door opens and Nellie creeps forlornly in. "Oh, Miss Maud," she says, tearfully, "I can't find it, I can't find it! I've searched high and low but it's nowhere to be found!" CHAPTER IX. How strange are the turns of fortune. Yesterday the beautiful queen of the county, the heiress of a millionaire, the betrothed of a handsome, adoring lover; to-day the inmate of a prison, the shadow of a crime hanging over her head, looked upon with horror and suspicion by those who, twenty-four hours ago, were ready to fall down and worship her. So Maud Langton muses drearily. Out of all the throng of defaulting friends only one remains to her--the girl she hates with cordial good-will, the rival who has spoiled all her hopes, who has married her lover, and who reigns at Langton Villa in her stead. What bitterness to acknowledge that slight, dark-eyed girl she has always despised, as the only human being who clings to her, and is kind to her in this, her dark hour. But it is true. It is Reine who takes her by the hand when others fail her; it is Reine who stands up bravely by her side and declares her belief in the existence of the mislaid note; it is Reine who almost pledges herself to find it if only they will give her time--hours, or days, or weeks, as the case may be. And when she has thus declared her purpose, she goes back to Langton Villa to "beard the lion in his den." "Uncle Langton, I am going to New York after Mr. Charteris," she says to him, coolly. "Eh? what--after Vane?" he growls, in his curt fashion. "What's up?" "I have important business with him. I _must_ see him, if only for five minutes." The old millionaire looks keenly at the dusky, beautiful face. Some of the brightness has gone out of it since yesterday. The large, dark eyes have a strange, intent, far-off look, the lips droop like a grieved child's, the white rose instead of the red, blooms on her cheek. "Child, you look tired and pale. All this excitement has been too much for you. What is this business with Vane, eh? To scold him for running away?"