And all the time Doctor St. Clair remained mysteriously absent. No wildest stretch of fancy could have persuaded the young doctor that that protracted stay meant disaster to his hopes and his happiness. CHAPTER XXI. DOCTOR ST. CLAIR’S REVENGE. The chagrined superintendent had indeed gone away with a distinct purpose of doing some little detective work of his own, by which he hoped, in the malignity of his heart, to get Doctor Rupert ousted from his position at the hospital. He hardly knew what he was hoping for; he barely expected success to crown his mission. But he vaguely scented a mystery about the young physician because he had been appointed from another State, over the heads of several applicants from West Virginia, who felt aggrieved at the preference shown the handsome stranger. Doctor St. Clair knew that the governor himself had recommended Rupert, therefore he called on him first, and, while cleverly reporting on affairs at Weston, adroitly threw in some leading questions on the subject nearest his thoughts. To his keen disappointment he found the chief executive dumb as an oyster regarding Doctor Rupert’s claims for recognition by the party in power. He said in an off-hand way that the young doctor was an old acquaintance whom he had been glad to favor. After that he was genially non-committal, and the private secretary, when cautiously interviewed afterward, was in the same mood. He knew absolutely nothing about Doctor Rupert. He had never seen him but once, and was not sure he should recognize him if he ever met him again. The amateur detective went away despondent, and if chance had not furnished him the right clue in the very nick of time, he would have been disappointed of the revenge he craved. * * * * * Ada Winton was the lovers’ veritable good angel in those brief happy days. “I am going to get up a hasty trousseau for the bride,” she said gayly, but with latent earnestness, and every minute she could spare from her work she spent at the cottage helping Aunt Susan to get Eva ready. Ada was in mourning for her father, and in her trunk she had several pretty dresses, scarcely worn, among them her dainty white graduating gown. With slight alteration the sweet white organdie fitted Eva as if it had been made for her, and it was the same with the dark-brown tailor-made suit, just the thing for the short wedding journey that had been planned. “Oh, how can I take your pretty gowns?” cried Eva timidly. “Say no more about it. They will get moth-eaten and old-fashioned locked away while I am in mourning. If it will ease your mind, you may buy my wedding gown when I get married,” laughed the brilliant Ada jestingly. “I shall take the greatest delight in doing it,” cried Eva earnestly, feeling the weight of obligation thus removed from her mind.