"I don't believe there were any desperate cases. You will remember," she added, "that we lived much abroad, and so had few intimate acquaintances. Besides, Marcia was--well--extremely patriotic. She often said that she would marry only an American--and an American who lived at home and was proud of his country. One doesn't meet many of that kind in Europe." "No," I agreed. Whatever my doubts might be, it was clearly impossible at present to proceed any further along that line of inquiry. And what other line lay open? It seemed to me that I had come to an impasse--a closed way--which barred further progress. I sat silent a moment, pondering the problem. Perhaps Mrs. Lawrence held the key to it, and I turned to look at her. She was seemingly sunk in reverie, and her lips moved from time to time, as though she were repeating to herself some fragmentary words. She seemed more self-possessed in the presence of this catastrophe than one would have expected. Perhaps she knew where her daughter was; perhaps Miss Lawrence had not really fled. There was nothing to show that she had left the house. It seemed impossible that a woman clad as she had been could have fled, in broad day, without attracting some one's notice. But whether she had fled or not, I reflected, the mystery remained the same. Certainly, she had not appeared at the altar to keep her promise to Burr Curtiss. "Mrs. Lawrence," I asked, "what reason have you to believe that your daughter left the house?" She started from her reverie, and sat staring at me as though scarce understanding. "Why," she said at last, "what else could she have done? She has disappeared----" "You're sure she isn't concealed somewhere about the place?" "Concealed?" and she paled a little under my eyes. "Oh, no; that's impossible! We've searched everywhere!" "And you think she went of her own free will?" "She could scarcely have been abducted," she retorted. "Marcia is a strong girl, and a single scream would have alarmed the house." "That's true," I agreed. "Your room is near hers?" "Just across the hall." The wish flashed into my brain to look through the house; perhaps I should be able to arrange it. "There's no pit or hole or trap or anything of that sort into which she could have fallen?" "Oh, no; nothing of the sort." "Nor closet nor chest into which she could have accidentally locked herself?" I went on, remembering the fate of the bride in the old song. "No; besides, we've looked in them all. We've searched everywhere--every corner. She's not in the house--I'm quite sure of that." "And yet you say she loved Mr. Curtiss?" "Loved him devotedly." "Then what possible reason could she have for deserting him? Why should she----"