Mr. Leith saw no objection to the plan. He was sorry for the impatient husband who had received a lesson that would last a life-time.
He gave him his wife's address in Italy, with his cordial good wishes and went away to seek his wronged, unhappy daughter.
"She cannot have gone yet. She was to weak and ill to have gone to-day. She would have waited until she was better," he kept whispering to his reproachful heart as he hurried along.
Then he thought of the beautiful, fashionable woman who had taken the place of little Golden's mother, and worn her name for twelve long years.
"Poor Gertrude," he murmured sadly. "I wonder how she bears it. Perhaps she will not grieve much. She does not love me as she did when I first made her my wife. Perhaps I am to blame. I have chilled her tender nature by my carelessness or coldness, for I have never loved her as I did my lost little Golden."
He hurried up the marble steps and ran impatiently along the hall, stumbling against the housekeeper, who was pacing sedately along with a little basket of keys.
As he was rushing past her she stopped and called to him.
"Mistress and her maid are gone away, sir."
"Where?" he inquired, pausing and looking back in bewildered surprise.
"I cannot tell you, for I do not know," the woman replied, respectfully. "But she bade me say that she left a letter for you on her dressing-table."