"I don't know how to tell the rest, Mr. Lester," he blurted out. "Only Marcia Lawrence was the divinest woman I ever met. Royce used to laugh at me for having an ideal."
"Yes, he told me," I said.
"Well, I knew instantly that I'd found her. And she was very good to me—better than I knew how to deserve. Three months ago, she promised to be my wife—we were to have been married at noon to-day——"
He sat with bowed head and working face, unable to go on.
"We were happy—she was happy, I know it!" he cried fiercely, after a moment. "There wasn't a cloud—not a single cloud! It was too perfect, I suppose—too perfect for this world. I've heard that perfect things don't last. But I don't understand—I can't understand!"
"Mr. Royce told me she'd disappeared," I said gently.
"Disappeared utterly!" He was on his feet now and striding madly up and down the room, his self-control gone from him. "There wasn't a cloud, I tell you; not the slightest breath of suspicion or distrust or unhappiness. Last night, some of her friends here gave a little reception for her, and she was the gayest of the gay. This morning, about ten o'clock, I called to see her; she seemed very happy—kissed me good-bye until we should meet at the church."
A convulsive shudder shook him. I saw how near he was to breaking down.
"Let me tell the rest, Burr," said a low voice from the door, and I turned to see a woman standing there—a woman dressed in black, with a face of unusual sweetness, but shadowed by a great sorrow.