“Gone out! What makes you think so?”

“She has taken her hat and cloak.”

“How do you know?” asked Herbert.

“I looked in the wardrobe.”

“Good Heavens! Where’s she gone to?”

Mrs. Heywood’s thin old hands clutched at the white lace upon her bosom.

“Herbert, I—I am afraid.”

The man went deadly white. He stammered as he spoke:

“You don’t mean that she is going to do something—foolish?”

“Something rash,” said Mrs. Hey wood mournfully.