"Oh, sir, surely you know she was very unhappy," she faltered.
"About her lover?" asked Mrs. Le Roy.
"Ye—es, madam," faltered the maid, weakly.
St. Leon had crossed to the door. He came back and laid his strong protecting hand gently on his mother's shoulder, and looked down into her troubled face.
"Mother, do not be frightened," he said. "I will find Beatrix for you. Ring for lights, and let Clarice stay here with you. I will search for the child."
The words kindled a gleam of hope in her breast. She did not see how deathly white his own face had grown.
He left her, and went out into the grounds on his self-appointed mission of finding the missing girl. A new moon had risen, piercing the twilight darkness with shafts of mellow light. In its mystic rays the white graveled walks and groups of marble statuary glimmered ghostly pale and wan. Clarice's apprehensive words rang in his ears:
"I am afraid she has thrown herself into the water."
"Not that—oh, not that," he said to himself.