Miss De Lancie went no more into society that season; indeed, the season was well over before she was able to go out. She announced her intention, as soon as the state of her health should permit her to travel, to terminate her visit to Richmond, and go down to her plantation on the banks of the Potomac. Cornelia would gladly have attended her friend, and only waited permission to do so; but the waited invitation was not extended, and Marguerite prepared to set out alone. “We shall meet you at Berkeley or at Saratoga, this summer?” said Cornelia. “Perhaps--I do not yet know--my plans for the summer are not arranged,” said Marguerite. “But you will write as soon as you reach home?” “Yes--certainly,” pressing her parting kiss upon the lips of her friend. The promised letter, announcing Marguerite’s safe arrival at Plover’s Point, was received; but it was the last that came thence; for though Cornelia promptly replied to it, she received no second one. And though Cornelia wrote again and again, her letters remained unanswered. Weeks passed into months and brought midsummer. Colonel Compton with his family went to Saratoga, but without meeting Miss De Lancie. About the middle of August they came to Berkeley; but failed to see, or to hear any tidings of their friend. “Indeed, I am very much afraid that Marguerite may be lying ill at Plover’s Point, surrounded only by ignorant servants who cannot write to inform us,” said Cornelia, advancing a probability so striking and so alarming, that Colonel Compton, immediately after taking his family back to Richmond, set out for Plover’s Point to ascertain the state of the case in question. But when he arrived at the plantation, great was his surprise to learn that Miss De Lancie had left home for New York, as early as the middle of April, and had not since been heard from. And this was the last of September. With this information, Colonel Compton returned to Richmond. Extreme was the astonishment of the family upon hearing this; and when month after month passed, and no tidings of the missing one arrived, and no clew to her retreat, or to her fate was gained, the grief and dismay of her friends could only be equaled by the wonder and conjecture of society at large, upon the strange subject of Marguerite De Lancie’s disappearance. CHAPTER III. THE FUGITIVE BELLE. “What’s become of ‘Marguerite’ Since she gave us all the slip-- Chose land travel, or sea faring, Box and trunk, or staff and scrip, Rather than pace up and down Any longer this old town? Who’d have guessed it from her lip, Or her brow’s accustomed bearing, On the night she thus took ship, Or started landward, little caring?” --BROWNING. Christmas approached, and the gay belles of Richmond were preparing for the festivities of that season. Colonel Compton with his family and a few chosen friends went down to Compton Lodge to spend the holidays in country hospitalities, hunting, etc.