"Where is she? I must speak to her--must hear from her own lips how it was that she could do such a thing. Where is she?" cried Bernard. "Wait a minute, please, sir," said Mrs. Austin. "I must tell you that after the engagement was settled Miss Sinclair came the next day and took Miss Anderson away. Miss Sinclair gave me her address,--Steele’s Road, Hampstead, and said that I was to forward all Miss Anderson’s letters there. Miss Sinclair also gave me a five-pound-note, and Miss Anderson promised to come and see me, and settle up everything before she got married. She begged me to pack up all her things, and take care of them for her; but she said, too, that she would never be able to come and live here again. ’No,’ I said, ’you are going to be a grand lady, and you’ll forget all about poor Mrs. Austin!’ But she said, ’No, no, indeed!’ and she cried, and kissed me. ’I’m not very happy,’ she said, and could say no more for weeping, especially as Miss Sinclair came up to urge her to make haste, for the cab was waiting. "Not very happy? I should think not indeed! Oh, Doris!" The last words were said very low, as Bernard turned his head away for a few moments. "She looked miserable, sir. I’m thinking it was only for a home and support that she was thinking of marriage." "But she wouldn’t sell herself for that!" exclaimed Bernard. "And then it was such a grievous thing, sir, that you didn’t write to her. Hope deferred maketh the heart sick. And very sick at heart my poor dear young lady was, many and many a time, while she was looking for the post bringing her a letter, in the days before she got engaged to Mr. Sinclair." "But I did write! I wrote many more letters than I received from her. I never heard from her after the first week." "Then there has been foul play, sir, somewhere! Letters have been stopped, and have got into the wrong hands before to-day." Bernard knew well who must have been the culprit. His mother had wronged and sinned against him in a way which would be hard to forgive. She had done all she possibly could to destroy his happiness in this world. But he told himself that he must not waste time in thinking of that just now; he would hasten to Doris and have a talk with her. "Do you say she is at Hampstead?" he inquired, hastily. "She went there with Miss Sinclair, but they are not there now, sir. They have gone to the seaside somewhere, for the benefit of Miss Anderson’s health." "Gone!" cried Bernard. "To the seaside! What seaside? Where?" "I don’t know, sir. They’ll tell you at--Steele’s Road, Hampstead." "I’ll go there at once. You’ve been a good friend to Miss Anderson. Allow me," and he pressed a sovereign into the landlady’s hand, and hurried out of the house.