about in unconsciousness, mostly blissful, of the annihilation of Eugene
Brassfield. The mails might take to Mrs. Baggs at Hazelhurst vague
letters from Judge Blodgett hinting at clues and traces of Florian,
preparatory to the restoration of the lost brother; but Brassfield, never
anything but a wraith from the mysterious caves of the subconsciousness,
was non-existent for evermore, except through the magic of Le Claire.
But Elizabeth Waldron, just home from college, full of the wise unwisdom
of Smith and twenty-three, and palpitating with the shock which had
broken the cables by which she had so long, long ago moored herself in
the safe and deep waters of the harbor of a literary and intellectual
celibacy, still dreamed of the bubble personality which had vanished,
although at times waves of anxious unrest swept across her bosom.

For one thing, that epistle of hers, made for his reading on the
train--how could she have written it! Elizabeth's cheeks burned when she
remembered it. Then she thought of the weeks of chaste dalliance between
her acceptance of him and his departure, and of the _elan_ with which he
had entered that safe harbor of hers, and swept her from those moorings;
and the letter seemed slight return for the rites of adoration he had
performed before her.

But (and now the cheeks burned once more) why, why had he not written to
her as soon as he reached New York? Was he one with whom it was out of
sight, out of mind? Or was he one of those business men who can not
place anything more delicate than price-quotations on paper? Or--and
here the cheeks paled--was he suddenly ill? She wished, after all, that
she had not written it!

And one day, when a special-delivery letter came and surprised her, she
ran out in the winter sun to the summer-house where she had sat so much
with him, and read it in quiet. Whereupon the unrest increased, because
the letter seemed as unlike Eugene as if he had copied it from some
_Complete Letter Writer_.

Florian had agonized over this letter--had even tried the experiment of
writing one while in the "Chones blane" under the influence of Madame le
Claire; but it was too incoherent for any use--and he had done the best
he could. Professor Blatherwick and Judge Blodgett were working out a
code of behavior for Mr. Amidon when he should return to Bellevale. They
kept him in the Brassfield personality for hours every day; but such a
matter as this letter to Elizabeth,