“Where are you going?” asked Madame, in a muffled voice. “I’m agoin’ to little Ollie.” “Where is she, do you know?” “Ezry, don’t you know where we’ve got to go to?” “I know nothing, except that this scrap of paper has been brought by a negro boy.” Ezra kissed the paper, and Madame’s lips curled in contempt. “Is it not rather a wild-goose chase to start you know not whither, and at this time of the evening too?” “We can’t wait here after little Ollie’s told us to come,” said Uncle David simply. “Cannot you suggest some plan?” asked Ezra, turning to Madame by force of habit. “Not I,” she replied contemptuously. “Shall you go east, west, north, or south? The world lies all before you.” “Ain’t you glad little Ollie’s found?” asked Uncle David, looking wistfully at her. Madame laughed harshly. They went out of the room together feeling her presence insupportable. Just round the corner they came upon Napoleon Pompey who was peeping around to see if he could pick up any scraps of news. He had divined there was news from Olive, and with the inquisitiveness of his race had followed Ezra when he had rushed so wildly out of the house. “D’yer know whar ter go?” he inquired. “No,” said Ezra. “Can you tell us anything of that negro boy? Do you know where he lives?” “Ask her,” said Napoleon Pompey, jerking his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the door from which they had just emerged. “Ask who?” “Madame,” said Napoleon Pompey. “Does she know?” asked Ezra, amazed. “I seed dat ar pony hyar afore,” replied Napoleon Pompey. “Great Heavens!” said Ezra as drops of sweat burst out on his forehead. He hurried back to the house with Uncle David. Neither of them spoke a word. “Madame,” said Ezra, as they once more stood in the room, “I have come to ask you a question. Do you know where my wife is?” She looked him unflinchingly in the face and answered: “Yes.” “May the Lord forgive you!” said Uncle David, in a voice hardly above a whisper, and for some seconds there was a complete silence in the room, broken only by the sound of Ezra’s heavy breathing. “Where is she?” he demanded sternly. “Go and find her,” was the mocking answer. Ezra sprang furiously forward, and almost yelled out, “Tell me at once or——” “Ay yes,” she said with a steady look, “you will drag the secret out, will you?” She tore open her dress and exposed her snow-white throat. “See, there it is handy. Take a knife and cut my throat. See if I shall flinch. The last gurgle of my blood bubbling up through the wound, shall bear a sound of mocking laughter. Strike!” Ezra turned from her in horror. “She must be mad,” he said to Uncle David. “Not mad now, I have been mad all these months, all these years. Mad to love you, mad in loving such a one as you. Now I am sane. Ah, how I hate you!” “This is horrible,” said Ezra, putting his hand before his eyes. “Horrible, is it? It is the waking from love’s young dream. Ha, ha!”