way to sane acceptance of
real human life. After all money meant a great deal. She would come
around to a sensible view, and get that strange look out of her eyes,
that strained blighted look which hurt him. Then he writhed in his
self-contempt; doubt routed all his hope, and remorse made him
miserable.

A hurried step on the stairs aroused Mr. Maynard. Swann came running
into the library. He was white; his sharp featured face wore a
combination of expressions; alarm, incredulity, wonder were all
visible there, but the most striking was mortification.

"Mr. Maynard, Margaret has left her room. I can't find her anywhere."

The father stared blankly at his son-in-law.

Swann repeated his statement.

"What!" All at once Mr. Maynard sank helplessly into his chair. In
that moment certainty made him an old broken man.

"She's gone!" said Swann, in a shaken voice. "She has run off from me.
I knew she would; I knew she'd do something. I've never been able to
kiss her--only last night we quarreled about it. I tell you it's--"

"Pray do not get excited," interrupted Mr. Maynard, bracing up. "I'm
sure you exaggerate. Tell me what you know."

"I went to her room an hour, two hours ago, and knocked. She was there
but refused me admittance. She spoke sharply--as if--as if she was
afraid. I went and knocked again long after. She didn't answer. I
knocked again and again. Then I tried her door. It was not locked. I
opened it. She was not in the room. I waited, but she didn't come.
I--I am afraid something is--wrong."

"She might be with her mother," faltered Mr. Maynard.

"No, I'm sure not," asserted Swann. "Not to-night of all nights.
Margaret has grown--somewhat cold toward her mother. Besides Mrs.
Maynard retired hours ago."

The father and the husband stole noiselessly up the stairs and entered
Margaret's room. The light was turned on full. The room was somewhat
disordered; bridal finery lay littered about; a rug was crumpled; a
wicker basket overturned. The father's instinct was true. His first
move was to open the door leading out upon the balcony. In the thin
snow drifted upon this porch were the imprints of little feet.

Something gleamed pale blue in the light of the open door. Mr. Maynard
picked it up, and with a sigh that was a groan held it out to Swann.
It was a blue satin slipper.

"Heavens!" exclaimed Swann. "She's run out in the snow--she might as
well be barefooted."

"S-sh-h!" warned Mr. Maynard. Unha