“The sooner the better,” agreed Alva; and within an hour they were on their way, Alva choosing to accompany him, because she wished to be on the spot to solace his sorrow if he failed to find Floy. She was determined to do all she could for him, openly blaming herself for the flight of the girl. “It was my idle chatter to her that made her lose faith in him and run away, so I must do what I can to atone,” she said. At the very last they decided to go alone. St. George remembered the gruesome character of Suicide Place, and how he had heard that no one could be persuaded to go there for love or money. Besides, he shrunk from creating a useless sensation, for he had little hope now of finding his darling there. “You know all the terrible things that Landon told me. Are you willing to risk the horrors of the place?” he asked Alva, anxiously. Alva was a magnificent woman, in high health and with strong nerves. She laughed at her brother’s question. “I am not at all afraid that the ghosts will rout _me_!” she replied, gayly. So they ordered a carriage to take them out, and the driver was almost petrified with astonishment when they told him to drive past Suicide Place. It was nearing sunset when they reached the grim old building in its splendid grove of trees, and again the driver gasped with amazement when told to stop there. “We are going to walk through that splendid grove,” explained Alva, carelessly. “But, begging your pardon, miss, surely you don’t know what an awful name the place bears. I wouldn’t set foot inside that gate for a thousand dollars, poor as I am!” cried the man, in consternation. “Oh, yes, I _do_ know all about the place, but I don’t believe those spook tales, and my brother and I are determined to explore those grounds so that we can boast of our bravery hereafter. So you may wait for us here,” laughed Alva; and she was vastly amused when she saw the disgusted man drive off to the opposite side of the road so as to be as far as possible from the place. But as she went in through the gates, out of the glory of the August sunlight that flooded the west, into the heavy shallows of the dark grove, the smile faded from Alva’s ruby lips, and a subtle premonition of evil began to weigh on her spirits. As for St. George, he was remembering the first time he came here--that May night that seemed so long ago now, when he had followed Floy, warned of her peril by that strange dream, and saved her from the insults of Otho Maury. How freshly it all came back--the sweet May night cool with soft spring rain, the breeze laden with odors of wet lilacs tossing their purple plumes against the windows.