Tiara reached the Johnson residence, which was a large building, built on the colonial style and surrounded by as fine a set of trees as one could wish to see. Tiara went around to the kitchen and was taken into the dining room by the Negro woman cook. "You will please withdraw as I desire to be alone when I meet Mrs. Johnson," said Tiara to the cook, with a pleasant smile. Mrs. Johnson pulled aside the sliding door leading into the dining room and, catching sight of Tiara, uttered a scream of joyous surprise and rushed into her arms. Tiara gently disentangled herself in order to close the door which Mrs. Johnson had left open. Sitting down by Mrs. Johnson's side, Tiara took hold of her hand and talked in low, earnest tones for a few moments, watching her countenance the while. "No, no, no, I could not think of that for a moment. No, no, no," said Mrs. Johnson, and in her heart there grew a great coldness toward Tiara for even suggesting such a thing. As for Tiara her hopes fell to the ground, and with despair written upon every feature she arose to go. The two went to the back door through which Tiara had entered, Mrs. Johnson in an excited manner saying over and over again: "O no, no! Such a thing is not to be thought of for a moment!" words that pierced Tiara like a dagger each time they were uttered. Sitting on a bench in the back yard waiting, as he said, for an opportunity to ask Mrs. Johnson for a job, sat the Negro who had ridden on the train with Tiara and had come to the Johnson residence as she came. Mrs. Johnson looked at him, felt herself grow weak, and swooned away. The Negro had looked scrutinizingly at Mrs. Johnson, and now arose hurriedly, evidently satisfied with his inspection. When Mrs. Johnson recovered consciousness, she asked wildly, "Where is he? The Negro, where is he? Ah, he will----" Mr. Johnson, who had been summoned from the library to assist in caring for his wife, placed his hand over her mouth and prevented her from talking further. Tiara, who had become somewhat dazed by Mrs. Johnson's treatment, had not stopped to help care for the swooning woman, but had walked away as one in a trance. How she made her way back to Almaville, she never knew. CHAPTER XXXIII. _Back in Almaville._ The Hon. H. G. Volrees sat in his office room looking moodily out of the window. Since the desertion of his young bride his life had been one long day of misery to him. His mystification and anger increased with the years, and he had kept a standing offer of a large reward for information leading to the discovery of his wife. He had vowed vengeance upon the author or authors of his ruin. "Come in," said he in a response to a knock on his door. A young Negro man walked in and Mr. Volrees turned around slowly to look at his caller. "This is Mr. Volrees?" asked the Negro. Mr. Volrees nodded assent, surveying the Negro from head to foot, noting the flush of excitement on his swarthy face.