and hiding away for her own pleasure to see how much she could frighten him. He had been far wiser to eat his luncheon in comfort and let the young lady see that that sort of trick would not do with him. He was beginning to feel a little angry and hurt by this time. It was not good manners, to say the least of it--it showed a lack of good feeling and good taste to make him look like a fool in the eyes of the hotel servants, so soon after their wedding-day. He should give up the search as a bad job, and return to the Castle Warden and rest. Without doubt, she would come in for her dinner. He gained the hotel again, but still no news had been heard of the missing lady. By this time every menial in the house knew that the bride (for when can people ever hide the glaring fact that they were married yesterday?) had played truant, designedly or otherwise, and many were the conjectures as to her reason for making herself so conspicuous. Meanwhile, Frederick Walcheren sat in his own apartments, by turns angry, impatient, anxious and despairing. He hardly took heed how the time went on. Every moment he expected to hear the sound of Jenny’s footstep running up the staircase--to hear her merry voice telling him the reason of her extraordinary absence--to feel her arms round his neck and her lips pleading for forgiveness. But the hours went on till seven and eight o’clock had struck, and still she was not there. As the last hour sounded Frederick heard a low tap on his door; he was not in the mood to see strangers or talk with them, but he cried, ‘Come in!’ The door opened, and the landlord of the Castle Warden entered and closed it securely behind him. ‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ he commenced, ‘but I am told that your lady has not come home, and that you are rather uneasy about her.’ ‘Well, I am, naturally,’ replied Frederick, ‘in fact, I don’t know what the devil to think about her absence. It is most extraordinary! I went out to bathe this morning, leaving Mrs Walcheren here, and when I returned she was gone. No one saw her go out, nor can I hear any news of her, except from a little girl, who says she met her walking in the direction of the cliffs, about one o’clock this afternoon. I have been all over the cliffs, and the town, and the beach, but can neither see nor hear anything more. What should you advise me to do, Mr Cameron? I am nearly distracted with anxiety.’ ‘The lady was seen going towards the cliffs,’ said the landlord, musingly, ‘our cliffs are not very safe for strangers. I hope there has not been an accident.’ At this Frederick leapt from his seat as if he had been shot. ‘My God! man,’ he cried, ‘what do you mean? You cannot think it possible that--that--’ He tried to finish the sentence, but failed.