From the moment I read the letter, I had no doubt to whom she was married. Three days after Rose's departure for Quebec, Mr. Stanford left us for Montreal. He was only to be absent a week. The week has nearly expired, and there is no news of him. I knew instantly, as I have said, with whom Rose had run away; but as I looked up, I saw no shadow of a suspicion of the truth in Captain Danton's face.
"What does it mean?" he asked, with a bewildered look. "I can't understand it. Can you?"
There was no use in disguising the truth; sooner or later he must find it out.
"I think I can," I answered. "I believe Rose left here for the very purpose she has accomplished, and not to visit Virginie Leblanc."
"You believe that letter, then?"
"Yes: I fear it is too true."
"But, heavens above! What would she elope for? We were all willing she should marry La Touche."
"I don't think it is with M. La Touche," I said, reluctantly. "I wish it were. I am afraid it is worse than that."
He stood looking at me, waiting, too agitated to speak. I told him the worst at once.
"I am afraid it is with Reginald Stanford."