“There is no need for this excitement on your part,” he said, coldly. “Lady Carthew was not injured by her escapade. Indeed, within three hours of her leap, she telegraphed to me from Clapham Junction, informing me that she was on her way to London. I was forced to go on first to Northborough, where all manner of rejoicings had been prepared, to quiet them with some story of Lady Carthew’s health which had necessitated a change of plans. But I wired to a detective agency to find out her address, and communicate with me at my club. Imagine, Hilary, the awful disgrace of the thing. Having to call in professional spies to find out one’s own wife! Worst of all, this girl, who seemed the perfection of modesty and refinement, has, through her mental affliction, become so strangely different that you would hardly know her. All her reserve, all her delicacy and grace have left her. In the short time we spent together, she contrived to make me the laughing-stock of a vulgar crowd by her open flirtation with her father’s gamekeeper, that gypsy fellow who shot you in the arm.” Hilary’s face betokened amazement, largely tinctured by incredulity; but the latter quality he refrained from expressing, as he asked, quietly: “Have the detectives furnished you with any clue?” “So far, with two incorrect ones. I have in my hands now a third address to a lodging-house in Duchess Street, Oxford Street, whither they have tracked a woman who exactly answers to the description I have furnished. I was on my way thither from the detective office when, passing this street, I resolved to speak with you. Hilary, I hardly know whether I hope or dread to find her. I have suffered so much during the past three days that I have come to wish that she or I were dead.” “But your love for her----” “She herself killed that. My great dread is lest the affair should reach the ears of my people. If I can only find her first, and put her away somewhere quietly until she recovers her reason! That is my one hope now.” Hilary, on his part, was so profoundly shocked by his friend’s story that he knew not what to suggest by way of alleviating his grief and anxiety. The pair very shortly afterward parted, Lord Carthew having promised to return and report the success or failure of his mission. Hilary had long ago forgotten his breakfast. Swallowing a cup of tepid tea, he sought the open air, there to reflect on the strange story he had just heard. He had struck into the Strand, and was about to cross Trafalgar Square, when his attention was attracted by the figure of a girl, tall, slender, and attired in shabby black, who stood, hesitating and frightened, between the rows of hurrying cabs, carriages, and omnibuses which were incessantly passing.