"Forgive me," he said, gently. "The name was Irene, but I put in yours because it rhymed so well." "But why do you choose such sad songs?" she said. "They make my heart ache." "Because mine aches already," he answered, impulsively; and, seating himself by her side, he continued, passionately: "Darling Kathleen, I love you, and, unless you will give me your love in return, I shall die of heartbreak, like that poor lad in the song." She remained perfectly silent a moment, then answered, rebukingly: "But you are my cousin." "Cousins often marry," he replied, eagerly. "But I can not marry you, Chester; I am engaged to marry a young man in Boston. Besides, I don't love you," she replied. "Do you love _him_?" "Of--course," she replied; but her voice faltered as she thought how impossible it was for her to love Teddy, because of that other passion in her heart. "Oh, Chester, please let me alone!" she cried, with sudden petulance. "You have not known me two weeks, and I don't want your love! I do not want anybody's love!" Suddenly she burst into hysterical tears. CHAPTER LII. THE SEARCH FOR KATHLEEN. Oh! when shall the grave hide forever my sorrow? Oh! when shall the soul wing her flight from this clay? The present is hell, and the coming to-morrow But brings with new torture the curse of to-day. BYRON. On the night when Kathleen was so strangely rescued from the river a man and woman left Richmond by a midnight train for New York. They were Ivan Belmont and Fedora, the woman who had played such a cruel part in the life of Ralph Chainey. Whatever their mission in Richmond, it could not have been an honest one, since they were leaving the city in partial disguise--Ivan with a luxuriant blonde beard, and his companion with a curly brown wig over her flaxen hair, and a dotted veil drawn over her bold, handsome face. They traveled second class, and seemed to shun observation, conversing with each other in low whispers. "It was a very ugly thing for us that the old man got away," he observed. She shrugged her shoulders, and replied: "Oh, pshaw! I don't think it matters. He can never catch up with us. Who would suspect you of being the old negro hack-driver, or me of being that old witch, Grandmother Franklyn? Ha! ha!" "True!" he replied; and echoed her laugh of security, forgetting that "he laughs best who laughs last." They thought that Uncle Ben Carew, the old, downcast farmer, was a simple old fool; but they were doomed to find themselves mistaken. He had his wits about him, as he proved afterward; for as soon as he found that the old house was deserted, he made his way from the gloomy neighborhood into the busiest portion of the city. Within an hour the police were notified of what had occurred, and were organized to search for the missing girl.