DANTE G. ROSSETTI.
"Good God!" cried Errington impatiently "What's the matter? Speak out!"
He had just arrived home. He had barely set foot within his own door, and full of lover-like ardor and eagerness was about to hasten to his wife's room,—when his old servant Morris stood in his way trembling and pale-faced,—looking helplessly from him to Neville,—who was as much astonished as Sir Philip, at the man's woe-begone appearance.
"Something has happened," he stammered faintly at last. "Her ladyship—"
Philip started—his heart beat quickly and then seemed to grow still with a horrible sensation of fear.
"What of her?" he demanded in low hoarse tones. "Is she ill?"
Morris threw up his hands with a gesture of despair.
"Sir Philip, my dear master!" cried the poor old man. "I do not know whether she is ill or well—I cannot guess! My lady went out last night at a little before eight o'clock,—and—and she has never come home at all! We cannot tell what has become of her! She has gone!"
And tears of distress and anxiety filled his eyes. Philip stood mute. He could not understand it. All color fled from his face—he seemed as though he had received a sudden blow on the head which had stunned him.
"Gone!" he said mechanically. "Thelma—my wife gone! Why should she go?"