“How could I forgive him his cruel work? I fell in a swoon by his bedside, and before I revived he died, and went to meet the judgment of the wicked. Then I set about finding my darlings. I wrote to her old home in Mount Vernon, New York, and received no reply. I searched London over for months, and with no success, so I determined to come to America. I went to my wife’s ancestral home, Nellest Farm, and found it was deserted. I made inquiries, and learned that my wife, Mrs. Fane, as she called herself, had died the terrible death of the suicide ten years before--that my daughter Florence was taken care of by some kindly neighbor who only lately met death by a terrible accident!” “No--no; I am your daughter Florence, dearest father!” cried Floy, in joyous excitement. CHAPTER XLIX. “SOMETHING TERRIBLE!” Leaving Floy to explain matters to her new-found father, we must return to Mount Vernon and follow our hero in his search for his missing love. At his hotel, which was located within a square of the Maury mansion, he found that the all-absorbing subject of conversation was of the disasters that had befallen the Maury family within the last twenty-four hours. The great importing house of Maury & Co. had failed yesterday, and the head of the house had fallen dead of a stroke of apoplexy. And following on this calamity to the devoted wife and family was the mysterious disappearance of Otho and Maybelle. Last evening they had retired early to their rooms, seemingly prostrated with grief over the death of their kind, indulgent parent. This morning they were missing, and no clew to them could be found. When St. George Beresford heard this news his heart sunk within him in prophetic dread. Knowing what he did of Otho and Maybelle’s nocturnal wanderings at Suicide Place, he could come to but one conclusion. Floy was their prisoner, as Landon had suspected, and fearing detection, they had spirited her away to another place. “We have come too late!” he cried, bursting into Alva’s presence in a quiver of emotion, and falling wearily into a chair. “No--no; you must not tell me so,” she exclaimed, with keen regret; and then he poured out the whole story. Alva saw the situation in all its terror. She did not know what to say to her brother, but she saw that she must offer him some comfort to save him from utter despair. He had grown frightfully pale, and the despair in his beautiful eyes made her heart ache. It seemed to her as if his very life was bound up in his sweetheart Floy--as if the failure to find her would surely break his heart. She could not permit him to give up hope, although she herself had almost lost heart. “You must not lose heart like this. That old house must be searched!” she cried, with such cheerful eagerness that he was inspired with fresh courage. “Then I will go at once!” he cried, starting up.