"Well," cried Mrs. Frayling, her patience exhausted. "Is it from her?" "Yes," Mr. Frayling replied, "It was handed in at the General Post Office at--" "The General Post Office!" Major Colquhoun ejaculated. "What on earth took her there?" "The hansom, you know," said Mrs. Frayling. "Oh, dear"--to her husband--"_do_ read it." "Well, I'm going to, if you'll let me," he answered irritably, but delaying, nevertheless, to mutter something irrelevant about women's tongues. Then he read: "'Don't be anxious about me. Have received information about Major C.'s character and past life which does not satisfy me at all, and am going now to make further inquiries. Will write.'" "Information about my character and past life!" exclaimed Major Colquhoun. "Why, what is wrong with my character? What have I done?" "Oh, the child is mad! she must be mad!" Mrs. Frayling ejaculated. Mr. Frayling fumed up and down the room in evident perturbation. He had not a single phrase ready for such an occasion, nor the power to form one, and was consequently compelled to employ quite simple language. "You had better make inquiries at the post office," he said to Major Colquhoun, "and try and trace her. You must follow her and bring her back at once, if possible." "Not I, indeed," was Major Colquhoun's most unexpected rejoinder; "I shall not give myself any trouble on her account; she may go." "Oh, for Heaven's sake, don't say that, George!" Mrs. Frayling exclaimed. "You _do_ love her, and she loves _you_; I _know_ she does. Some _dreadful_ mischief-making person has come between you. But wait, _do_ wait, until you know more. It will all come right in the end. I am _sure_ it will." Major Colquhoun compressed his lips and looked sullenly into the fire. CHAPTER XIV. On the third day after Evadne's wedding, in the afternoon, Mrs. Orton Beg was sitting alone in her long, low drawing room by the window which looked out into the high-walled garden. She had found it difficult to occupy herself with books and work that day. Her sprained ankle had been troublesome during the night, and she had risen late, and when her maid had helped her to dress, and she had limped downstairs on her crutches, and settled herself in her long chair, she found herself disinclined for any further exertion, and just sat, reclining upon pale pink satin cushions, her slender hands folded upon her lap, her large, dark luminous eyes and delicate, refined features all set in a wistful sadness.