CHAPTER XXXV. HARRIET’S SEARCH FOR SALOME. Harriet went slowly down the avenue, after leaving the villa, looking the picture of dejection and misery. On and on she plodded toward the village, taking no note of distance or her surroundings, until, all at once, a frisky dog, that she had kindly fed with dainty bits from the sick-rooms while she was nursing in the chateau, bounded out of a thicket and rushed forward, fawning upon her. She was startled, for everything about her had been so silent, so apparently deserted, and, in trying to avoid the antics of the joyful creature, her foot caught in her skirts, she stumbled, and fell upon the ground. She was not hurt, only frightened and trembling, and just then she heard a low exclamation of surprise, and the next moment a figure sprang toward her and helped her to her feet. It was Dr. Winthrop, who had been concealed from her view in a rustic arbor beyond the thicket, where he had been reading. “Madame Winter!” he cried astonished, as he saw who she was. “Are you hurt? I had no idea what Don was up to or I would not have allowed him to rush at you.” “No, I’m only startled and a bit upset,” Harriet replied, as she tried to recover her equanimity. “But, oh, Dr. Winthrop, I’m in great trouble.” “Trouble!” he repeated kindly. “Come, then, and sit down while you tell me about it,” and he led her to the arbor where he had been sitting. “Now unburden yourself, my good woman,” he went on, with increasing sympathy, as he noted her quivering lips and tearful eyes, “and let me see if I cannot find some way to help you.” “It is about Sister Angela, sir——” Harriet began. “Sister Angela!” interrupted Dr. Winthrop, anxiety and interest depicted on his thin face. “What about her? I know that she was taken suddenly ill, and went away from here about a month ago. I trust she did not—die!” “No one can tell—no one knows; no one has seen her since she left here,” Harriet cried. “No one has seen her since she left here four weeks ago!” Dr. Winthrop exclaimed in great astonishment. “No.” “Have you been to the convent to inquire for her?” “No; you see, sir, I can’t talk with the sisters. Sister Angela had to tell me in English what they said, and so since she’s been away I’ve stayed mostly by myself, but the mother, as they call her, sent me a letter from her about three weeks ago.” “Three weeks ago! Where was it written from?” Dr. Winthrop asked eagerly. “I thought you said nothing was known of her movements since she left here!” “So I did, sir. The letter did not tell me much, only that she hoped to come to Paris in about two weeks. It was written from here—at least it was mailed from the village.” “That is very strange!—written three weeks ago, and mailed from the village, and she left the chateau four weeks ago,” mused Dr. Winthrop. He seemed to be absorbed in thought for a few minutes; then he said gravely: