Only one of the journalistic fraternity had any idea of the cause of her flight, and he was too proud and bitter to give it to the world. To his own family, under strict bonds of secrecy, he confided the truth, and Maud and Edith were indignant at the thought that wicked Mme. Lorraine had dared come beneath their roof, and loud in their protestations of disbelief in the story that there was a stain on Una's birth. But Bryant, Sylvie, and Ida preserved a significant silence that told more plainly than words their belief that all had happened for the best. They hoped secretly that Eliot would get a divorce, as Una had told him to do. CHAPTER XL. After the space of five years, let us look in again upon the Van Zandts. Eliot Van Zandt has a guest. Pierre Carmontelle! For five years the noble Louisianian has been a wanderer in foreign lands. He has returned at last cured of his passion for the girl he had loved, strong enough now to witness her happiness with another. Not since the day when he bid farewell to Eliot and his bride has he heard aught of their fate until now, when, strong in the consciousness of his conquered love, he goes to Boston, determined to visit the happy pair before his return South. "I shall see Van Zandt grown portly and important, the Little Nobody of old matronly and magnificent," he said to himself, with a smile. Fancy the shock of the reality when he found Eliot a grave, sad man, old beyond his years through the influence of sorrow for the young wife lost so strangely out of his life. It was several minutes after Eliot had told him his story before he could utter a word, so greatly was he affected by what had been told him. Then he called down the vengeance of Heaven on the head of the wicked woman. Eliot's grave, sad face, with its lines of suffering, told plainer than words all that he had endured. "Surely you pursued them?" cried Carmontelle. "As long as my means lasted--yes," said Van Zandt. "But that was such a little while. You know I had so little beyond my salary, and--there were my two sisters." "You should have written to me." "I did--your letter was returned to me--you had sailed for Europe." "And not a clew in all these years?" "None." "I need not ask if you have taken Una's advice and procured a divorce?" Carmontelle said, with quiet comprehension of the other's pale, grave face that flushed slightly, as he answered: "I am bound to Una while I live, although I have given up all hope of ever seeing her again." Carmontelle's steady eyes went over the worn sheet of paper on which Una had traced her pathetic farewell to her husband. "And Miss Hayes, whom she says here you loved before your marriage?" he said, abruptly. "I can not tell how she fell into such an error. Miss Hayes is my brother's sister-in-law. She visited here often, but we were never more than friends," Eliot answered, quietly, all unsuspicious of Sylvie's treachery.