He was very “hard hit,” for certain. Stella’s shining dark-blue eyes seemed to be gazing at him from every corner, and with her voice they haunted his dreams, from which he awoke with outstretched arms to meet the empty air. He had never meant to fall in love with her or with anybody, and it angered him to think that even incessant occupation and bodily activity could not stifle the constant pain at his heart. To a man of his essentially manly and practical nature, it seemed little short of contemptible to be thus dominated by a hopeless feeling of love for a woman, particularly now that she had become the wife of his friend; and he longed, with all his soul, for the moment when he should set sail for Canada, and, among new work and new surroundings, forget this foolish infatuation. So he sat, brooding, over the breakfast-table, in a moody frame of mind with which, until the past few days, he had been totally unacquainted, until the voice of the elderly, greasy-looking English waiter recalled him to his immediate surroundings. “A gentleman, sir, to see you on very pressing business. ’Ere is ’is card, sir.” A touch of unwonted reverence in the man’s voice and manner attracted Hilary’s attention. He took up the card and read thereon, with great surprise, the name of Lord Carthew. But two days married, and already in London visiting his bachelor friends! Hilary had read in an evening paper that the bridal pair intended spending a few days at the Earl of Northborough’s seat in the Isle of Wight before undertaking a lengthened cruise in the Mediterranean. A presentiment of something wrong filled his mind as he told the waiter to show the gentleman in. It was half-past eight o’clock, and as yet Hilary was the sole occupant of the coffee-room. There were no strangers present to note the pale and worried appearance of the man who only two days before had made a love-match with a beautiful and accomplished lady. “Carthew!” Hilary exclaimed, springing from his seat and grasping his friend by the hand. “What is wrong?” “Don’t you know? Thank Heaven! it hasn’t got about much yet, then! But, of course, it can’t be kept a secret much longer.” “Man alive, what do you mean? What is it that should be kept a secret? Has anything happened to _her_--to Lady Carthew?” His friend sat down by the table and wearily rested his head on his hand. “I haven’t slept for three nights,” he said. “Anxiety about her has banished rest by night and day. She is mad, Hilary, I am certain of it. No other explanation could explain, could justify her conduct. She sprang from the train on our wedding journey, and I have not seen her since.” “And you can sit quietly there and tell me such a thing!” almost shouted Hilary, stirred to violent indignation by what he supposed to be his friend’s callous apathy. “Good heavens! Carthew, what are you made of?” Lord Carthew looked at him and frowned.