He did not dream that when he should inform Mr. Dalton of the great change in his prospects, and the position to which he had attained, he would longer withhold his consent to his marriage with his daughter; and so it was with a light heart that he left Paul Tressalia to rule at Wycliffe until his return, and set sail for the United States.
The “wings of the wind” were not half rapid enough to bear him thither, for, for several weeks past, his heart had been filled with great anxiety.
Editha’s letters had suddenly ceased, and though he wrote again and again, it was ever with the same result—not one came in reply.
He did not for a moment doubt her constancy; he knew she simply could not be untrue to him, and he was forced to believe that Mr. Dalton had discovered the fact of their correspondence, and had taken measures to stop it, in perhaps the same way that he had before intercepted her flowers.
The passage across the Atlantic was an unusually long one, owing to unfavorable winds and storms, and he was nearly sick with the delay and his patience exhausted, when at last the vessel touched her pier, and he sprang ashore like a restless bird escaped from its cage.
Two hours later he stood on the steps of Mr. Dalton’s residence, his heart beating with a strange, unaccountable fear of something wrong, though he knew not what.
A servant answered his impatient ring, and to his eager inquiry, “Is Miss Dalton at home?” returned a surprised “No, sir.”
He then inquired for Mr. Dalton, and the reply suddenly stilled his rapid heart-beats and drove every shade of color from his face and lips.
“No, sir, Mr. Dalton is not at home; he has been searching for Miss Dalton ever since her strange disappearance,” the man said.
“Strange disappearance! Man! what do you mean?” gasped Earle, actually staggering beneath the unexpected blow.