He turned away at last warned by the darkening twilight that fell like a pall over his lost bride's "vast and wandering grave."
"I must bid adieu to Mrs. Brooke and Bertha and return home to-night," was the thought in his mind.
Mrs. Brooke was in the parlor alone, Bertha being still absorbed in the new bonnet. A sudden impulse came to Guy Kenmore.
He sat down by the matron's side and gazed sympathetically into her still youthful-looking and handsome face.
"Miss Brooke left you no address when she went away, I presume?" he inquired in a tone of respectful anxiety.
Mrs. Brooke had received her cue from Bertha and answered accordingly:
"No. She has deserted us most heartlessly, and I fear, I fear"—— she broke down and buried her face in her handkerchief.
"You do not suppose that she can have made away with herself?" he cried in low, awe-struck tones.
"No, no; worse, far worse," groaned the apparently deeply agitated woman. "Oh, Mr. Kenmore, pity the grief and shame of a heart-broken mother—I fear that Elaine has returned to her wicked deceiver."