to bring back
Constance immediately."

Gabriel and I were standing side by side; we looked at each other,
and he must have read the same sudden fear in my eye that I read in
his.

"Come," said I.

We left Aunt Caroline at the Cottage, and drove together in all
haste, and in perfect silence, to Fairview.

Mrs. Rayner was at breakfast when we entered the dining-room; I can
see her still, with her egg-spoon in her hand.

"You are fine people!" she said, "but please remember another time
that Constance is not such a horse as you are, and can't stand
exercise on an empty stomach."

I stared stupidly, and then I said, but my voice was so low that I
scarcely heard it:

"We have not seen Constance this morning."

Mrs. Rayner gave a shrill scream.

"My child!" she cried, "where is my child!" and ran from the room.
Gabriel and I stood motionless where she had left us, and clasped
our cold hands.

"Emilia Fletcher!" called Mrs. Rayner from upstairs, with a hard
ring in her voice, "come up; I want you a minute."

And I went up. The bed was tumbled, but she had not slept in it; her
hat and cloak were gone. I sat on the edge of the bed and shook from
head to foot; Mrs. Rayner was running to and fro like a mad woman.

"She is gone! Where is she gone? I never said good night to her!"
she shrieked. "Mrs. Norton, you saw her last, you must know
something of it. Here are her boots, she must have gone out in her
shoes; the soles were thin, she'll catch her death of cold!" And she
ran to the door, crying, "Constance! Constance!"

I made my way to the dressing-table; I remembered to have seen her
purse upon it when I went up to mend my dress the evening before. It
was gone, but in its place I found a little note with my name upon
it.

I ran with it to Gabriel; I could not read it alone. "A letter," was
all I said, and we read it in the bay-window, standing side by side.

"Emilia, dearest, you have given me so much, and now I have
sinned against you. You forgave me with your lips just now;
forgive me with your heart when I am dead. You must not
blame me for what I do, you know I was always very weak; I
cannot look you in the eyes again, nor him. God will forgive
me, I think. Good-bye. Be happy,--neither you nor he must
grieve for me; it is a poor little life that I throw away,
and all the good I ever knew came from you or him. Be
happy--Emilia, my old Emilia, good-bye."

She was fou