angalore' disaster; the explanation was
commonplace enough, and when it was given she exclaimed reproachfully,
'But why did you lead us all to believe that the worst had happened?
You must have known how it would grieve us; it was not like you,
Vincent.'

'But I wrote,' he rejoined; 'surely you got my letter, Mabel?'

'You _did_ write, then?' she said. 'I am glad of that. But the letter
never came. I never dreamed that there was the slightest hope till I
saw you here. I hardly dared to speak to you at first. And how do you
come to be here at all? You have not told me that yet.'

'I was on my way to punish a scoundrel,' he said abruptly, 'but I had
almost forgotten all that. Never mind about me, Mabel; tell me about
yourself now. You don't know how I have been longing for the very
smallest news of you!'

'What am I to tell you?' said Mabel smiling. 'Where shall I begin,
Vincent?'

'Well, first, your own question back again,' he said. 'How do _you_
come to be here, and all alone? Are your people at the hotel? Am I to
see them to-night?'

'My people are all at Glenthorne just now,' said Mabel with some
natural surprise, which, however, only made Vincent conclude she must
be travelling with friends. Were they her future parents-in-law, he
wondered jealously. He could not rest till he knew how that was.

'Mabel,' he said earnestly, 'they told me you were engaged; is it
true?'

She had not yet grown quite accustomed to her new dignity as a wife,
and felt a certain shyness in having to announce it to Vincent.

'It was,' she said, looking down; 'it is not true now. Haven't you
really heard that, Vincent?'

But, instead of reading her embarrassment aright, he saw in it an
intimation that his worst fears were without foundation. He had not
come too late. She was free--there was hope for him yet. But even then
he did not dare to express the wild joy he felt.

'Do you mean,' he said--and his voice betrayed nothing--'that it is
broken off?'

'Broken off!' she repeated, with a little touch of bewilderment.
'Why--oh, Vincent, what a dreadful thing to ask! I thought you would
understand, and you don't a bit. I am not engaged now, because--because
this is my wedding journey!'

If Vincent had been slow to understand before, he understood now. It
was all over; this was final, irrevocable. The radiant prospect which
had seemed to open a moment before to his dazzled eyes had closed for
ever. For a moment or two he did not