“That wretch may not have found her, and driven her to self-destruction. As soon as I can, I will begin a search for her, and if I can persuade some noble woman to stand her friend the law shall free her from her hated fetters.” She stared at him, aghast. “You mean you will try to get a divorce for her?” she cried out, in surprise. “Yes,” he replied, without shrinking from her disapproving gaze. “And then?” she queried meaningly. He hesitated a moment, then some defiance of her disapproval made him say boldly: “Then? If I get at the bottom of the mystery that infolds her, and if I can prove her all that I vaguely believe, I shall make her my wife.” “You are mad!” she cried, but in the depths of her soul she respected him for his noble faith in the girl he loved, and for his desire to help her out of her trouble. A vague repentance began to stir at her heart. “Was I too hard?” she asked herself uneasily, and a memory of the girl’s sweetness, gentleness, and gratitude stole over her with such power that a dimness crept over her eyes. He looked at her sadly and reproachfully, but she did not speak. She wanted time to think. “Have you any idea, any suspicion, where she went?” he asked. “None.” “Did she go away penniless?” “She took one set of jewels--the diamonds I gave her for a wedding gift; but she left all your presents.” It seemed to him that there was a graceful delicacy in the act. “She feared I would hate her memory,” he said to himself, and then he closed his eyes and remained silent a long time, communing with his own thoughts. Very sad and hopeless they were, but the jealous misery had passed from them, also the contempt that had inspired him when he believed that Fair had gone from the bedside where he lay suffering for her sake straight to the arms of the man who had wounded him. “She was more noble than I believed, and she loved me, she really loved me. For that love’s sake, I must think kindly of her, must try to help her in her trouble, even though she may never be nearer to me than now.” Unclosing his eyes, he looked at Mrs. Howard. She was still sitting quietly in her easy-chair, staring into vacancy with troubled eyes. As he stirred, she started and met his glance. “You think me a fool, or a madman?” he said, blushing slightly. “No--only rash and imprudent,” she replied. “Oh, you do not understand,” sighed Bayard Lorraine. He sighed again, and added: “She said that her love for me was her fate, and I cannot doubt but that my love for her is mine. Yes, my heart and soul have been full of her since the first day her beautiful eyes looked into mine. I have never loved any woman but her, and I never shall.” “Yet it seems to me that long before I ever saw you, Bayard, I read in the New York papers repeated announcements of your approaching marriage with some society belle,” she remarked.