“She was not exactly a young woman, Frank; nevertheless she was very beautiful in a Southern, majestic style. Her eyes and hair were almost coal black, and she spoke with a foreign accent. In short, she looked like an Italian or Spaniard.” The wretched man groaned aloud. Too well he knew who his boy’s abductor was, and his conscience told him that Lucille de Vigny’s conduct was actuated by motives of revenge. She resented his desertion, and took this means of telling him so. He tottered to a chair, and sinking down on it, hid his face in his hands. Were the consequences of his imprudence ever to pursue him? Oh! it was horrible, horrible. “Frank,” said Mrs. Grandison, gazing at him in alarm, “do you know the lady? Is she an acquaintance of yours?” He shuddered. “For my sins, yes. Would to God she were not! I have to thank Mme. de Vigny for all my misery. If I had never set eyes on that woman, Fenella and I might have been living happily together at this moment. It was she who came between us, curse her!” “Mme. de Vigny!” exclaimed Helen, with a red flush mantling in her cheek, “O Frank, if only I had known, nothing on earth would have induced me to give Ronny up into her charge. Poor dear little Ronny! Why, she is an odious woman--an abominable woman!” “I quite agree,” he said moodily. “But abuse cannot alter the fact of her having stolen my boy. I can’t think, though, how you let him go.” “She came here, Frank,” continued Mrs. Grandison, in self-defense, “and some instinct warned me against her. I refused at first to accede to her request, but she was so urgent that at last I believed she was really empowered by you to take Ronny away. See, here is your card, which she produced in token of the genuineness of her errand.” And so saying, Helen turned to the mantelpiece and showed Frank his card. He looked at it, then snatched up his hat and prepared to leave. “This is a bad business,” he said tremulously. “A very bad business, indeed; I would not have had it happen for a year’s income. But perhaps you can tell me where Mme. de Vigny is to be found?” “Alas! no. She left no address, and I haven’t the faintest notion where she resides. But stay,” putting her hand up to her forehead, “if I remember rightly, Mme. de Vigny did hint at traveling abroad and taking a long journey. Why, Frank, how impetuous you are!” as her visitor opened the door. “Where are you going?” “Going!” he replied, his face all working with emotion. “I am going straight to London to engage a detective to hunt out Mme. de Vigny’s whereabouts, and after that I intend returning to Guernsey. Fenella is lying dangerously ill of brain fever. We do not know what turn her illness may take. The doctor thought that the sight of Ronny might do her good, but now--now,” breaking down suddenly, “I must go back alone, so help me God.” And without wishing Mrs. Grandison good-by, he rushed downstairs.