prove to himself that,
after all, she would soon be heard driving up to the door. He ate his
dinner in silence, and then drew a chair up to the fire and lit a cigar.

For the first time in his life he was driven to go over the events that
had occurred since his marriage, and to ask himself how it had all come
about that Sheila and he were not as they once had been. He recalled the
early days of their friendship at Borva; the beautiful period of their
courtship; the appearance of the young wife in London, and the close
relegation of Sheila to the domestic affairs of the house, while he had
chosen for himself other companions, other interests, other aims. There
was no attempt at self-justification in those communings, but an effort,
sincere enough in its way, to understand how all this had happened. He
sat and dreamed there before the warmth of the fire, with the slow and
monotonous ticking of the clock unconsciously acting on his brain. In
time the silence, the warmth, the monotonous sound produced their
natural effects, and he fell fast asleep.

He awoke with a start. The small silver-toned bell on the mantelpiece
had struck the hour of twelve. He looked around, and knew that the evil
had come upon him, for Sheila had not returned, and all his most
dreadful fears of that evening were confirmed. Sheila had gone away and
left him. Whither had she gone?

Now there was no more indecision in his actions. He got his hat, plunged
into the cold night air, and, finding a hansom, bade the man drive as
hard as he could go down to Sloane street. There was a light in Ingram's
windows, which were on the ground floor: he tapped with his stick on one
of the panes--an old signal that had been in constant use when he and
Ingram were close companions and friends. Ingram came to the door and
opened it: the light of a lamp glared in on his face. "Hillo, Lavender!"
he said in a tone of surprise.

The other could not speak, but he went into the house, and Ingram,
shutting the door and following him, found that the man's face was
deadly pale.

"Sheila--" he said, and stopped.

"Well, what about her?" said Ingram, keeping quite calm, but with wild
fancies about some terrible accident almost stopping the pulsation of
his heart.

"Sheila has gone away."

Ingram did not seem to understand.

"Sheila has gone away, Ingram," said Lavender in an excited way. "You
don't know anything about it? You don't know where she has gone? What am
I t