That was impossible; Anna was too tired, Alice said, and conducting her to her own room, she made her take the rest she so much needed. When Alice returned again to the parlor, the convict had gone. There had been a short consultation between himself and the doctor, an engagement to meet in Cincinnati to arrange their plan of search; and then he had turned again to his once wife, still sitting in her corner, motionless, white, and paralyzed with nervous terror. “You need not fear me, Eliza,” he said, kindly; “I shall probably never trouble you again; and though you have no cause to believe my word, I tell you solemnly that I will never rest until I have found our daughter, and sent her back to you. Good-bye, Eliza, good-bye.” He did not offer her his hand; he knew she would not touch it; but with one farewell look of contrition and regret, he left her, and mounting the horse which had brought him there, dashed away from Spring Bank, just as Colonel Tiffton reined up to the gate. It was Alice who met him in the hall, explaining to him as much as she thought necessary, and asking him, on his return, to wait a little by the field gate, and turn back other guests who might be on the road. The Colonel promised compliance with her request, and as only a few had been invited, it was not a hard task imposed upon him. ’Lina had been taken very sick, was all the excuse the discreet Colonel would give to the people, who rather reluctantly turned their faces homeward, so that Spring Bank was not honored with wedding guests that night; and when the clock struck eight, the appointed hour for the bridal, only the bridegroom sat in the dreary parlor, his head bent down upon the sofa arm, and his chest heaving with the sobs he could not repress as he thought of all poor Lily had suffered since he left her so cruelly. Hugh had told him what he did not understand before. He had come into the room for his mother, whom ’Lina was pleading to see; and after leading her to the chamber of the half-delirious girl, he had returned to the doctor, and related to him all he knew of Adah, dwelling long upon her gentleness and beauty, which had won from him a brother’s love, even though he knew not she was his sister. “I was a wretch, a villain!” the doctor groaned. Then looking wistfully at Hugh, he said, “Do you think she loves me still? Listen to what she says in her farewell to Anna,” and with faltering voice, he read: “That killed the love; and now, if I could, I would not be his except for Willie’s sake. Do you think she meant it?”