"So you have remembered the date, sir?" cried Kitty. "I had not really forgotten, dear; but thinking about your father had, for the moment, put it out of mind." "Oh, yes, I know, Gilbert," she said, a little absently. He devoured her with eyes of love, but he noticed that her thoughts were not with him. They had reverted to her father. "I think I see how it all fits in," she said, after a long pause, "for his sailing on the 21st. He wrote me on the 11th; that gave him ten days to wind up his business in Vancouver, so far as he could wind it up, and to get to New York in--five days in Vancouver, and five days for the journey to New York. If he had sailed on the 21st, as he said to his agent he would, he would have been here on the 28th or 29th, that is, in three or four days after his letter. Now three, four, or even let us say five days, would be a few days--just as he says in his letter. I can see he had planned it all out, so as to fit everything in. Don't you see that, Gilbert?" "It certainly looks like it, dear." "Yes, it does. It is very strange that he did not carry out his intention. I cannot understand it. There is some mystery about it I cannot fathom." "It seems singular," observed Gilbert; "but I dare say that, if we knew all the circumstances, there would be a perfectly natural explanation, sweetheart. Pray do not give way, my darling," he besought her, but his own manner was not reassuring. "I cannot help being anxious," replied Kitty. Then she looked again at the cablegram from Wallace, and said, "The agent wires, 'Your father sailed from New York by _St. Louis_ on 21st.' That is quite definite, is it not? And he adds, 'No further advices.' Does that mean that father had advised Mr. Wallace that he had sailed? Oh, Gilbert, I am afraid, I am afraid! We imagine that the agent knew only of father's intention--an intention, we suppose, he was prevented from carrying out. But think what it means if we are wrong in imagining this altogether! Suppose that father did sail on the 21st! Gilbert, I am afraid," said Kitty, in a low tone; "I am afraid," she repeated, and the girl's voice suddenly fell into a whisper. She shivered slightly, and the tears stood in her eyes as she clung to her lover. Gilbert took her in his arms, soothed and caressed her. In the course of their conversation he had tried to put the best construction on Morris Thornton's non-appearance, but at heart he felt, like Kitty, that there was good ground for misgiving. And to have told the girl what he knew, but she did not know, of the serious condition of her father, would be only to add to her trouble. As for himself, that knowledge made him appreciate the gravity of the matter even more than she did. He resolved, therefore, to set inquiries on foot at once, and furthermore to set to work vigorously himself to probe the thing to the bottom.