"Went away—where?" asked Ronald Valchester, blankly; then he added at her look of surprise: "I thought she was at home all the time."
"Oh! dear me," cried Mrs. Meredith; "why, she disappeared all of a sudden, sir, the very day that she left Laurel Hill after visiting you there. Mr. Walter was the last person that ever saw her. We have never seen nor heard of her since, and Mr. Meredith's nigh crazy over it. Did Mr. Walter never tell you, sir?"
But Ronald Valchester did not stay to answer her. He turned away like one in a dream and walked back to the gate, mounted his horse, and rode away as though on an errand of life or death.
[CHAPTER XXVIII.]
Three years; again the autumn leaves lay on the grass; again the roses shed their leaves and left the thorns; again the golden sunlight lay over the earth as it did that autumn three years gone when the tragedy of sorrow fell between Ronald Valchester and the dawning happiness of his life.
In one of the most palatial hotels of New York a lady sat in her luxurious parlor a lovely morning in that sunny autumn. She was young and beautiful—so beautiful that the eye never wearied of gazing on the light of the large, dark eyes, the dainty contour of the cheek and throat, and the delicate, lovely coloring of the scarlet lips curved like Cupid's bow. That rich tinting of the lips was all the color in her face. The cheek was pale and clear, the brow was creamy-fair, and so transparent you could see the blue veins outlined clearly in the temples. The abundant chestnut hair, with a glint of gold in its brownness was drawn back in waving masses from the thoughtful brow and arranged in rich confusion of braids and ringlets fastened with a comb of gold and pearl. She wore a morning gown of royal purple velvet trimmed with snowy swansdown, and lingered near the fire as if the chill in the autumn air made itself felt even amid the luxurious comfort of her surroundings.
The door opened and an old gentleman entered with an arm-full of papers. The lady looked up with a gentle smile.
"Ah! professor," she cried, "you have not turned newsboy, I hope?"