"But, Hallett," I said, "you are not sure; she may have gone to some friend's. She may have come back by this time." "Come back?" he said fiercely. "No; she has not come back. Not yet. Some day she will return, poor strayed lamb!" he added, gazing straight before him, his voice softening and his arms extending, as if he pictured the whole scene and was about to take her to his heart. "But are you sure that she has really gone?" I cried. "Sure? Read that." I took the crumpled paper with trembling fingers, and saw at a glance that he was right. In ill-written, hardly decipherable words, the poor girl told her brother that she could bear it no longer, but that she had fled with the man who possessed her heart. I stared blankly at poor Hallett, as he took the note from my hand, read it once more through, crushed it in his hand with a fierce look, and thrust it back in his pocket. "Is it--is it your poor dear sister who has gone?" said Mary excitedly. "Yes," he cried, with his passion mastering him once more; and his hands opened and shut, as if eager to seize some one by the throat--"yes; some villain has led her away. But let me stand face to face with him, and then--" He paused in his low, painful utterance, gazing from me to Mary, who stood with her hand upon his arm. "And I thought my trouble the biggest in the world," she sobbed; "but you've done right, sir, to come for my William. He'll find them if they're anywhere on the face of this earth, and they shall be found. Poor dear! and her with her pretty girlish gentle face as I was so jealous of. I'm only a silly foolish woman, sir," she cried, with the tears falling fast, "but I may be of some good. If I'm along with my William when he finds 'em, she may listen to me and come back, when she wouldn't mind him, and I'll follow it out to the end." "You're--you're a good woman," said Hallett hoarsely, "and may God bless you. But your husband--where is your husband? We must lose no time." "Master Antony?" cried Mary, and then, as if awakening once more to her position, and speaking in tones of bitterness--"Oh, what has come to my William? He must be found!" "Send him on to me," said Hallett. "I'll go back now. Antony, will you come?" "Why, there's your poor mother, too," cried Mary, "and all alone! I can help her, at all events!" As Mary spoke, she hurried to get her work-a-day bonnet and shawl, while Hallett stood gazing at her in a dazed and helpless way. "Your pore sister did come and help my pore boy when he was bad, and-- Oh!" Mary uttered a fierce, angry cry. Bonnet and shawl fell from her hands, her jaw dropped, her ruddy face grew mottled with patches of white, and her eyes dilated. Her whole aspect was that of one about to have a fit, and I took a step towards her. She motioned me fiercely back, and tore at her throat, as if she were suffocating.