"Ah!" said Mollie, "if we can. Guardy, good-night." CHAPTER XXV. MIRIAM'S MESSAGE. Next morning, at breakfast, Mrs. Walraven did not appear. She was very ill and feverish, her maid reported, and quite unable to leave her bed. Mr. Carl Walraven heard this sad account of his wife's health with a grimly fixed countenance. He looked as though he had passed a restless night himself, and looked worn and haggard and hollow-eyed in the bright morning sunshine. Mollie, on the other hand, was blooming and brilliant as the goddess Hebe. Past troubles sat lightly on buoyant Mollie as dew-drops on a rose. She looked rather anxiously at her guardian as the girl quitted the breakfast-room. "You didn't mention Blanche's illness, guardy. Tea or chocolate this morning?" "A cup of tea. I didn't mention her illness because I wasn't aware of it. I haven't had the pleasure of seeing Madame Blanche since we parted in the dining-room last night." "Indeed!" said Mollie, stirring her chocolate slowly. "And what's more," pursued the master of the house, "I don't care if I never see her again." "Dear me, guardy! Strong language, isn't it?" "It is truthful language, Mollie. Sleeping on a thing sometimes alters its complexion materially. Last evening I concluded to let things blow over and keep up appearances before the world. This morning I am resolved to let the world go hang, and teach one of the conspirators a lesson she won't forget in a hurry." Mollie looked alarmed. "Not a divorce, guardy? Surely not the public scandal of a divorce? All must come out then." "Not quite a divorce," Mr. Walraven said, coolly; "its next-door neighbor. A quiet, gentlemanly, and lady-like separation." "Guardy Walraven," said Miss Dane, solemnly, "don't do anything rash." "I don't intend to. I've thought the matter well over. Didn't get a wink of sleep last night for it. We won't break our hearts"--with a cynical sneer--"myself nor my gentle Blanche. I don't know why we married, exactly. Certainly not for love, and we will part without a pang." "Speak for yourself, guardy. I dare say Blanche will be frantic." "Frantic at leaving a house on Fifth Avenue--frantic at leaving you mistress in her place--frantic that she can't be my blooming young widow--frantic at all that, I grant you." "Guardy, don't be dreadful," adjured Mollie, pathetically. "If I can forgive Blanche, I'm sure you may." "No, Mollie, I can not. She has deceived me basely, wickedly. More--I dare not." "Dare not. Now, Mr. Walraven--" "Hear me out, Mollie. A woman who would concoct such a villainous plot would stop at nothing. Abduction would be followed by murder. I would not trust her from henceforth on her Bible oath. My life is not safe while she remains in this house." "Guardy! guardy! how can you say such horrible things? Commit murder? You know very well she would not dare."