Lights had sprung up along the street, casting long shadows under the trees which edged either side. The windows of the houses gleamed through the darkness, and here and there, where the blinds had not been drawn, I caught glimpses of families gathered together about a paper, with heads eagerly bent. From the dim verandas, I heard the murmur of excited gossip--and I knew too well what it was all about. To-night, this city, from end to end, could have but a single all-absorbing subject to discuss--to wonder at and chatter over with that insatiable curiosity which we inherit from the monkeys. But I had not far to go. The tall, straight spire of a church told me that I had reached my destination, and I turned in at the gate of a house which was unmistakably the parsonage. The maid who took my card at the door returned in a moment to say that Dr. Schuyler was in his study and would see me. I followed her and found the clergyman seated beside a table upon which were lying the evening papers. A glance at them showed me what he had been reading, and his perturbed face bespoke great inward agitation. He was a small man of perhaps sixty years, with snow-white hair and beard and a delicate, intellectual face. He arose to greet me, my card still in his fingers, and then motioned me to a chair. "Candidly, Mr. Lester," he said, "I was half-inclined to excuse myself. This has been a trying day for me. But I saw that you had come from New York." "Yes, and on an errand which, I fear, may not be very welcome to you, Dr. Schuyler." "Not connected with the deplorable affair of to-day, I hope?" "Yes, sir; connected with that." "But," and he glanced again at my card apprehensively, "you are not a--reporter?" "Oh, no," I laughed. "I can easily guess how they've been harassing you. I'm acting for Mr. Curtiss," I added, resolving quickly that the best thing I could do was to tell him the whole story so far as I knew it, which I did, as briefly as possible. He heard me to the end with intent, interested face. "I think you'll agree with me, Dr. Schuyler," I concluded, "that my client is quite right in deciding to demand an explanation." "Yes," he answered, after a moment's thought, "I suppose he is--I'm sure he is. It's the most extraordinary thing I ever heard of--and the most deplorable. Until this moment, I had hoped that they had gone away to be married elsewhere." "Hoped?" I asked. "Yes, hoped. I've seen them together, Mr. Lester, and it seemed to me an ideal attachment. I can conceive of nothing which could keep them apart. Has any explanation of it occurred to you?" "Only one," I said, "that Miss Lawrence has been married before, but thought her husband dead, and discovered that he was still alive only at the last moment." But the clergyman shook his head. "You don't know Miss Lawrence?" he asked. "No," I answered. "You would see the absurdity of such a theory if you did."