"What is the trouble, Frances?" I asked, anxious to hear her news, which I feared was bad. She was in great distress, and I saw that a flood of tears was ready to accompany her tale of woe, so I said hurriedly: "Don't cry. Laugh while you speak. You will attract less attention." She tried to laugh, but the effort was piteous and became a failure, as she said:-- "George Hamilton has sailed for Canada, and my heart is broken." Again she tried to smile, but the smile never reached her eyes, for they were full of tears. "How do you know?" I asked, almost stunned by the news. She tried to stay her tears, but failed, and answered between sobs: "Last night at the queen's ball, the king showed me a letter sent by order of the French king, saying that George had sailed from Bordeaux for Canada nearly a fortnight ago. I could not help showing my grief, and the king, who was boisterously happy, said: 'Now you will forget him and listen to me.' I smiled, but it was a poor effort, and he smiled, showing his yellow fangs as he left me. I pray God that I may never be called upon to hate another man as I hate him." "I can hardly believe that George has gone to Canada without notifying us," I said. "Yes, I fear it is true," she returned. "But if I am ever so fortunate as to find him again, I intend to go with him whether he consents or no, regardless of father and all the world. Just as soon as I learn where he is in Canada, I will go to him. You will take me, won't you, Baron Ned?" "I'll not give that promise," I answered. "But I am sure there is something back of King Louis's letter of which we do not know. Surely George would not have sailed without notifying us." "He may have feared to betray himself by writing," she suggested, "since King Charles had asked King Louis to detain him." "That is true," I returned. "But the occasion must have been urgent indeed if he could not have sent us word in some manner." But I could find no comfort for her, for I really believed that George had gone to Canada, and there was a certain relief to me in knowing that he had passed out of Frances's life. After along silence this feeling of relief found unintentional expression when I said:-- "Time heals all wounds, Frances. One of these days you will find a man who will make amends for your present loss, and then--" "No, no, Baron Ned. Your words are spoken in kindness, but what you suggest is impossible. Perhaps if there had been fewer obstacles between us, or if I had not misjudged him so cruelly, I might have found my heart more obedient to my will." The only comfort I could give my beautiful cousin was that a letter would soon come explaining everything. In default of a letter, I promised to go to Paris and learn the truth from George's friends, if possible. Frances did not go back to Whitehall that day, but remained at home, pretending to be ill of an ague.