His first and second pull of the bell brought no response. Between them he listened and his ear caught nothing but the stillness of desertion. His third furious peal was answered by a distant footstep. He heard it come shuffling along the hall, pause, and then a light broke out through the glass fanlight above the portal. The door was opened a crack, and through this aperture a section of the Chinaman’s visage was revealed, lit by a warily inspecting eye. The Colonel pushed the door violently in, sending the servant back with it against the wall. Kicking it to behind him he demanded between his panting breaths: “Where’s Miss Allen?” “She’s gone,” said the Chinaman, exceedingly startled by this violent entry. “All gone.” “All gone! All gone where?” “I no savvy. The boss he gone two, thlee days. Gone San Francisco. Miss Allen she go just now.” “She’s only just gone? You mean she has just gone down town to buy something or see some one?” “No. She go ’way. She say, ‘Sing, I go ’way.’ She take a bag.” “She’s gone with a bag. Where the devil has she gone to? Don’t be such a damned fool! Where’d she go?” “No savvy. She no tell me. She take bag and go just now. She give me letter for you. I get him. He tell you.” “You’ve got a letter for me? Why didn’t you say that before? Go get it, and go quick.” The Chinaman shuffled up the hall and turned into the dining-room. The Colonel, having caught his breath, leaned against the wall under the hall gas. He thought probably June had gone to Lake Tahoe to visit Mitty Sullivan. Considering the situation it was the best thing she could have done. As the servant reappeared with a letter in his hand he said: “When did she leave this?” “Now,” answered the laconic Oriental. “She give him to me and say, ‘Give him Colonel Pallish. He come back Tuesday, Wednesday mebbe. You give him letter sure; no forget.’ You come back before, I give him now.” The Colonel had not listened to the last phrases. He moved closer to the gas and tore open the letter. To his surprise he saw that it was several pages in length, covered closely with June’s fine writing. His eye fell on the first sentence, and he uttered a sudden suppressed sound and his body stiffened. The words were: “Dear, darling, Uncle Jim. I who love you more than anybody in the world am going to hurt you so much. Oh, so terribly! Will you ever forgive me? Will you ever again think of June without sorrow and pain?” He stood motionless as a thing of stone, while his glance devoured the page. He did not read every word, but from the closely written lines sentences seemed to start out and strike his eyes. He turned the sheet and saw farther down a paragraph that told him everything: