It was about three in the afternoon when the fly from the railway drove up to the stately portico entrance of Powyss Place. She paid and dismissed the man, and knocked unthinkingly. The servant who opened the door fell back, staring at her, as though she had been a ghost.
"Is Lady Helena at home?"
Lady Helena was at home—and still the man stared blankly as he made the reply. She swept past him, and made her way, unannounced, to her ladyship's private rooms. She tapped at the door.
"Come in," said the familiar voice, and she obeyed. Then a startled cry rang out. Lady Helena arose and stood spellbound, gazing in mute consternation at the pale girl before her.
"Edith!" she could but just gasp. "What is this? Where is Victor?"
Edith came in, closed the door, and quietly faced her ladyship.
"I have not the faintest idea where Sir Victor Catheron may be at this present moment. Wherever he is, it is to be hoped he is able to take care of himself. I know I have not seen him since four o'clock yesterday afternoon."
The lips of Lady Helena moved, but no sound came from them. Some great and nameless terror seemed to have fallen upon her.
"It was rather an unusual thing to do," the clear, steady tones of the bride went on, "but being very tired after the journey, I fell asleep in the cottage parlor at Carnarvon, half an hour after our arrival. Sir Victor had left me to take a walk and a smoke, he said. It was nearly seven when I awoke. I was still alone. Your nephew had come and gone."
"Gone!"