In less time than it takes to tell it, poor, hapless Ida May, the victim of such a cruel misfortune, and a sadder fate yet to follow, was taken to the hospital. The waning summer days drifted slowly by, and autumn came with its dead, rustling leaves and sobbing winds, before Ida May opened her eyes to consciousness and turned them full upon the white-capped nurse bending over her.
"Where is Royal?" she asked, faintly.
"You mean the young man who left you at the hotel?" queried the nurse, who had heard the young girl's sad story; adding: "He never came back to inquire for you. He has deserted you. He did not care whether or not the shock would kill you. If there was ever a heartless scoundrel on the face of the earth, he is that one!"
The lovely white young face never changed its pallor, the dark eyes never left the grim countenance of the nurse.
"I want to leave this place at once," said the girl, attempting to rise from her cot.
"No, no; you must not do so!" exclaimed the nurse. "It would be dangerous in your case."
"But I want my mother," moaned Ida, piteously.
When the nurse made her rounds an hour later, to her great consternation she found that Cot 27 was empty. The girl had flown! The most diligent search through the city failed to elicit the slightest trace of her whereabouts.
An hour later a little dark figure, ensconced in a corner of the car, was whirling rapidly toward Dorchester.
She sat staring from the window with eyes that did not see so intent was she with her own thoughts.