again
reunite? Would they ever again meet? Who might say?

Drifting!

Well, if one drifts any where, the Mediterranean is surely the best
place; or, at least, the most favorable; for there all things combine
to favor, in the highest degree, that state of moral "drifting" into
which people sometimes fall.

The time passed quickly. Weeks flew by. Nothing new had been
discovered. No information had come from Naples. No letter had come
from Hilda. While Zillah waited, Windham also waited, and thus passed
six or seven weeks in Marseilles, which was rather a long time for
one who was hurrying home on important business. But he was anxious,
he said, to see the result of the investigations of the police. That
result was, at length, made known. It was nothing; and the chief of
police advised Obed Chute to go on without delay to Naples, and urge
the authorities there to instant action. He seemed to think that they
had neglected the business, or else attended to it in such a way that
it had failed utterly. He assured Obed Chute that he would still
exert all his power to track the villain Gualtier, and, if possible,
bring him to justice. This, Obed believed that he would do; for the
chief had come now to feel a personal as well as a professional
interest in the affair, as though somehow his credit were at stake.
Under these circumstances, Obed prepared to take his family and Miss
Lorton to Naples, by the next steamer.

Windham said nothing. There was a pallor on the face of each of them
as Obed told them his plan--telling it, too, with the air of one who
is communicating the most joyful intelligence, and thinking nothing
of the way in which such joyous news is received. Zillah made no
observation. Involuntarily her eyes sought those of Windham. She read
in his face a depth of despair which was without
hope--profound--unalterable--unmovable.

That day they took their last ride. But few words passed between
them. Windham was gloomy and taciturn. Zillah was silent and sad. At
length, as they rode back, they came to a place on the shore a few
miles away from the city. Here Windham reined in his horse, and, as
Zillah stopped, he pointed out to the sea.

The sun was setting. Its rich red light fell full upon the face of
Zillah, lighting it up with radiant glory as it did on that memorable
morning when her beautiful face was upturned as her head lay upon his
breast, and her gleaming ebon hair floated over his shoulders. He
looke