He gave up the quest for the missing girl after two weeks, and went back to Mount Vernon distracted with doubt and fear.
“I am all at sea,” he confessed, frankly, to Maybelle, who grew pale with anger as she cried:
“You have failed!”
“Yes, I have failed. There is no clew to her disappearance. She may possibly be dead, but the probabilities are that, frightened by my persecution, she has hidden herself away from all who know her to baffle persecution until Beresford’s return. Let us hope that she is dead.”
“She is not dead. She will live to thwart all our hopes!” cried his sister, furiously.
Springing to her feet, she stood before him, livid with emotion, hissing:
“Oh, how I hate that girl! I wish that I had killed her last night when I had her in my power!”
“Last night, Maybelle! Why, what do you mean?” he exclaimed in wonder, clutching her arm and forcing her back to a seat.
Maybelle leaned back panting and unnerved for a moment, then cried, bitterly:
“I was a fool to be frightened and take her for a ghost!”