Helen had been constantly growing more anxious, so that now the carriage could not travel fast enough; it seemed to her that everything depended upon what she might find at Hilltown. It was only the thought of Arthur that kept her from feeling completely free from her wretchedness; she felt that she might remedy all the wrong that she had done, and win once more the prize of a good conscience, provided only that nothing irretrievable had happened to him. Now as she came nearer she found herself imagining more and more what might have happened, and becoming more and more impatient. There was a balance dangling before her eyes, with utter happiness on one side and utter misery on the other; the issue depended upon what she discovered at Hilltown. The two sat in silence, both thinking of the same thing, as they whirled past the place where Helen had seen Arthur before. The girl trembled as she glanced at it, for all of the previous day's suffering rose before her again, and made her fears still more real and importunate. She forced herself to look, however, half thinking that she might see Arthur again; but that did not happen, and in a minute or two more the carriage had come to the house where he lived. She gave the reins to Mr. Howard, and sprang quickly out; she rang the bell, and then stood for a minute, twitching her fingers, and waiting. The woman who kept the house, and whom Helen knew personally, opened the door; the visitor stepped in and gasped out breathlessly, “Where is Arthur?” Her hands shook visibly as she waited for the reply. “He is not in, Miss Davis,” the woman answered. “Where is he?” Helen cried. “I do not know,” was the response. “He has gone.” “Gone!” And the girl started back, catching at her heart. “Gone where?” “I do not know, Miss Davis.” “But what--” began the other. “This will tell you all I know,” said the woman, as she fumbled in her apron, and put a scrap of crumpled paper into Helen's trembling hands. The girl seized it and glanced at it; then she staggered back against the wall, ghastly pale and almost sinking. The note, in Arthur's hand, but so unsteady as to be almost illegible, ran thus: “You will find in this my board for the past week; I am compelled to leave Hilltown, and I shall not ever return.” And that was all. Helen stared at it and stared again, and then let it fall and gazed about her, echoing, in a hollow voice, “And I shall not ever return!” “That is all I can tell you about it,” went on the woman. “I have not seen him since Elizabeth was here yesterday morning; he came back late last night and packed his bag and went away.”