“I must think it over. I cannot advise you now. I must see your aunt first, for I am very anxious over her, you know,” returned Mrs. Ritchie, who was rather uneasy in her mind over the broken engagement. She recalled to mind the fact that on the occasion of former ruptures Laurie had always confessed to her and besought her intercession with Lelia. But this time he had acted very differently on coming home. He had seemed quite as bright and happy as usual, with not a care on his mind. To her questions about Lelia he had said she was well and happy, and given plausible reasons for his sudden return, saying he had some investments to look after in Charleston. If he was grieved over the break with his betrothed, he certainly showed no signs of it. And when Lelia’s telegram summoned them all to The Crags, he appeared gently incredulous over his aunt’s illness. “She was in her usual good health when I left. Perhaps Lelia, in her fright, has exaggerated her illness,” he said, and declined to accompany them without further news. “If Aunt Cyrilla is indeed as ill as you fear, you may telegraph me at once and I will come. Otherwise I do not care to go back, very soon, to The Crags,” he said pointedly. All of which showed Mrs. Ritchie, plainly now, that Laurie did not care very much about being reconciled to his jealous sweetheart. The worm had turned at last. On the whole, she was rather glad to find Miss Cyrilla still so critically ill that it seemed quite the proper thing to summon Laurie, at once, by telegram. “I wonder if she has made her will?” she said to Lelia, who professed entire ignorance of the subject. “Then come with me to see her and make yourself as sweet as possible; then if she should happen to leave you all her money, it would not make so much difference whether Laurie forgives you or not,” said the mercenary mother, who placed wealth far above love in the scale of worldly advantages. It needed not her telegram to hurry Laurie, for all the morning papers contained notices of the mysterious tragedy at The Crags, and his heart sank, like lead, in his bosom, as he realized that the beautiful girl who, for twenty-four hours, had filled all his thoughts was probably no more. He realized the cause of his aunt’s sickness now, and regretted he had not accompanied his father and Lelia’s mother to The Crags. He would go at once; he took the first train for The Crags, determined to ferret out the mystery of Gipsy’s fate and, if possible, avenge her tragic death. Oh, it was cruel; it was monstrous, that her sweet young life should have come to so premature an end. How differently he had planned it out; how firmly he had resolved to elevate poor Gipsy Darke to the level on which he himself stood, to make her his bride, his wife. For love had suddenly been born, full grown, in Laurie Willoughby’s breast, an emotion so subtly sweet and overpowering that he questioned if he ever had been really in love with his cousin, Lelia.