Then he took a hansom and drove to the Alcots.
"Is Mrs. Alcot at home?" he asked the butler. "Can I have an answer to this note?"
"Mrs. Alcot has been in her room since yesterday morning, sir. She was taken ill just before the coach was coming round, and the horses had to be sent back. But the doctor last night hoped it would be nothing serious."
Ashe turned and went home. Then Kitty was not with Madeleine Alcot—not on the coach! Where was she, and with whom?
He shut himself into his library and fell to wondering, in bewilderment, what he had better do. A tide of rage and agony was mounting within him. How to master it—and keep his brain clear!
He was sitting in front of his writing-table staring at the floor, his hands hanging before him, when the door opened and shut. He turned. There, with her back to the door, stood Kitty. Her aspect startled him to his feet. She looked at him, trembling—her little face haggard and white, with a touch of something in it which had blurred its youth.
"William!" She put both her hands to her breast, as though to support herself. Then she flew forward. "William! I have done nothing wrong—nothing—nothing! William—look at me!"
He sternly put out his hand, protecting himself.
"Where have you been?" he said, in a low voice—"and with whom?"
Kitty fell into a chair and burst into wild tears.