Miss Van Arsdale turned to the paper again. "Your name isn't given." "It might as well be. As soon as it gets back to New York, every one will know." "If I read correctly between the lines of this scurrilous thing, Mr. Holmesley gave what was to have been his bachelor dinner, took too much to drink, and suggested that every man there go on a separate search for the lost bride offering two thousand dollars reward for the one who found her. Apparently it was to have been quite private, but it leaked out. There's a hint that he had been drinking heavily for some days." "My fault," declared Io feverishly. "He told me once that if ever I played anything but fair with him, he'd go to the devil the quickest way he could." "Then he's a coward," pronounced Miss Van Arsdale vigorously. "What am I? I didn't play fair with him. I practically jilted him without even letting him know why." Miss Van Arsdale frowned. "Didn't you send him word?" "Yes. I telegraphed him. I told him I'd write and explain. I haven't written. How could I explain? What was there to say? But I ought to have said something. Oh, Miss Van Arsdale, why didn't I write!" "But you did intend to go on and face him and have it out. You told me that." A faint tinge of color relieved the white rigidity of Io's face. "Yes," she agreed. "I did mean it. Now it's too late and I'm disgraced." "Don't be melodramatic. And don't waste yourself in self-pity. To-morrow you'll see things clearer, after you've slept." "Sleep? I couldn't." She pressed both hands to her temples, lifting tragic and lustrous eyes to her companion. "I think my head is going to burst from trying not to think." After some hesitancy Miss Van Arsdale went to a wall-cabinet, took out a phial, shook into her hand two little pellets, and returned the phial, carefully locking the cabinet upon it. "Take a hot bath," she directed. "Then I'm going to give you just a little to eat. And then these." She held out the drug. Io acquiesced dully. Early in the morning, before the first forelight of dawn had started the birds to prophetic chirpings, the recluse heard light movements in the outer room. Throwing on a robe she went in to investigate. On the bearskin before the flickering fire sat Io, an apparition of soft curves. "D--d--don't make a light," she whimpered. "I've been crying." "That's good. The best thing you could do." "I want to go home," wailed Io. "That's good, too. Though perhaps you'd better wait a little. Why, in particular do you want to go home?" "I w-w-w-want to m-m-marry Delavan Eyre." A quiver of humor trembled about the corners of Camilla Van Arsdale's mouth. "Echoes of remorse," she commented. "No. It isn't remorse. I want to feel safe, secure. I'm afraid of things. I want to go to-morrow. Tell Mr. Banneker he must arrange it for me." "We'll see. Now you go back to bed and sleep." "I'd rather sleep here," said Io. "The fire is so friendly." She curled herself into a little soft ball.