“The clerk sent the porter upstairs for Mr. Bain, and he was found up and dressed, not having retired yet. He came down quickly, and the young woman insisted on having a private interview with him. He yielded, and they were alone some moments in the clerk’s private office. They came out, and the woman hurried away, and the man, looking as though he had seen a ghost, went quickly upstairs to his room again. In half an hour he came down, paid his bill, and said he was returning to New York by the first train. He had no baggage, having only arrived the evening before, and said he would walk to the train. “Well, the curious part of the story is, the hotel porter, prompted by curiosity, followed the veiled lady in black. She went directly to the station, and the porter, remaining to watch her, saw her finally board the train for New York. Directly Dallas Bain came hurrying up, and leaped on the train just as it was pulling out of the station. “So there is my story as brief as I could make it. Can you make anything out of it, my dear?” She was pale as death, her great eyes black with emotion, her hand pressed convulsively upon her heart as she faltered, through trembling lips: “I cannot.” “You have no suspicion as to the identity of the veiled woman?” “No. I know nothing of his past. She may have been his mother, his sister,” she breathed hopefully. “Perhaps so,” he replied; then paused and regarded her with tender, pitying eyes. “Why do you look at me so strangely? I will not be pitied!” the girl cried, with sudden anger. “You have something more to tell me. Go on, then. Say your worst. I don’t think it will kill me,” proudly. “That’s right, my brave girl! No man is worth dying for, and there’s as good fish in the sea as ever were caught,” cried the old doctor jovially, glad of her pride. But in a minute he looked away from her to the window, and asked, in a lowered voice: “Have you happened to hear that--Mrs. Fleming’s maid, pretty little Letty Green, eloped last night?” “No.” She stared at him in wonder, then laughed unnaturally. “She went with Cullen, of course?” “No, Cullen is here.” There was an awful silence for a few moments. She broke it with a scornful laugh, asking coldly: “Do you wish me to believe that--that--my noble, handsome lover, Dallas--went off with Mrs. Fleming’s servant, that pert little Letty?” “That is what the jealous Cullen is saying. I don’t ask you to believe it, but he seems to be sure of his facts.” He saw the golden head droop, and the face fall into the hands, and he guessed the awful humiliation that made her hide it from his gaze. “My poor child, you don’t know how it pained me to come to you with this horrible story to shake your faith in your lover; but it could not be withheld, you know,” he said. She lifted her face, and it was like a death mask, so cold, so stony, the light and beauty all stricken from it at a blow.