“No; she had not come to the store this morning, but they told me where she boarded, and I drove there. Oh, what a terrible story I heard!”
“The girl had eloped, perhaps,” smiled the lady.
“Worse than that. I’ve often regretted that I didn’t elope myself when I was a girl,” returned Alva, flippantly; then instantly grew serious again as she continued, sadly: “The poor girl, by some strange accident, fell from her window in the fourth story down to the street last evening, and was removed to Bellevue, unconscious, and believed to be dying.”
“Oh, how sad, how shocking! and she was so sweet!” mused Mrs. Beresford, tenderly.
“So I drove to Bellevue, though expecting to find her dead,” went on Alva. “And now, mamma, comes the strangest part of the story—my Cupid had been mysteriously spirited away from the hospital.”
CHAPTER XXI.
“WHERE IS SHE NOW?”
“Alva!” cried Mrs. Beresford, gazing at her daughter in consternation.
She grew pale and shuddered as she spoke, for the thought of the lovely girl’s terrible accident touched her deeply.
“Is it not a terrible disappointment?” cried Alva. “Perhaps I shall never find her now, and my ‘Cupid’ will never be finished.”