A chill runs over him as the fact strikes him. There had always been a mystery about Sweetheart’s origin. Would the same mystery follow her disappearance? Beautiful and gifted beyond most mortals, was she some fairy changeling lent him awhile to brighten his life, then snatched away forever to her immortal sphere? He had never been accounted superstitious, but a thrill of fear ran over him as he recalled a pretty Shetland fairy-tale he had often read, wherein the fairy bride, won at first from the sea, had deserted her husband and returned to her home among the coral caves: “Days of delight Among my gorgeous coral halls, Where never a child’s footstep falls, Never is heard one loving voice, But all is mirth and mad rejoice.” He swept his white hand wearily across his brow as if to clear away these mists of fancy. “Sweetheart, you never would have deserted me!” he cried, in his anguish. “Oh, my love, my love, come back to me!” But, although the search for Sweetheart baffled every one who undertook it, Norman was more fortunate as regarded his mother. He found her where Camille had declared she was--at the cabin of Nance, the whilom chamber-maid at Verelands. The negro girl had degenerated into a thriftless, lazy sloven, much addicted to drink, and sprung eagerly at any chance that offered money without work, so she accepted Camille’s golden bribe, even though it was offered for the injury of the old mistress who had in past days been most generous and kind to her servant. But Nance had all the proverbial ingratitude of the negro race, and did not hesitate to bind the aristocratic lady tightly down upon a low cot-bed, where, after placing a sufficient quantity of water and coarse food within easy reach, she left her to her fate, locking the doors of the cabin and beating a hasty retreat to another city--for she well knew that, when this outrage was discovered, her punishment would be little short of lynching.