"Don't you think it very strange?" he asked of Estelle. "Nina said she
would write to you or send you a message--I suppose as soon as all her
plans were made. I hope nothing has happened to her," he added, as a
kind of timid expression of his own darker self-questionings.

"Something--something terrible?" said Estelle. "Ah, no. We should hear.
No; Nina will make sure we cannot reach her--that she is not to be seen
by you or me--then perhaps I have a message. Oh, she is very proud; she
will make sure; the pain in her heart, she will hide it and hide
it--until some time goes, and she can hold up her head, with a brave
face. Poor Nina!--she will suffer--for she will not speak, no, not to
any one."

"But look here, Miss Girond," he exclaimed, "if she has gone back to her
friends in Italy, that's all right; but if she is in this country,
without any occupation, her money will soon be exhausted--she can't have
had so very much. What will become of her then? Don't you think I should
put an advertisement in the papers--not in my name, but in yours--your
initials--begging her at least to let you know where she is?"

Estelle shook her head.

"No, it is useless. Perhaps I understand Nina a little better than you,
though you know her longer. She is gentle and affectionate and very
grateful to her friends; but under that there is firmness--oh, yes. She
has firmness of mind, although she is so loving; when she has decided to
go away and remain, you will not draw her back, no, not at all! She will
remain where she wishes to be; perhaps she decides never to see any of
us again. Well, well, it is pitiable, but for us to interfere, that is
useless."

"Oh, I am not so sure of that," he said. "As you say, I have known Nina
longer than you have; if I could only learn where she is, I am quite
sure that I could persuade her to come back."

"Very well--try!" said Estelle, throwing out both hands. "I say
no--that she will not say where she is. And your London papers, how will
they find her? Perhaps she is in a small English village--perhaps in
Paris--perhaps in Naples--perhaps in Malta. For me, no. She said, 'If
you are my friend, you will not seek to discover where I have gone.' I
am her friend; I obey her wish. When she thinks it is right, she will
send me a message. Until then, I wait."

But if Nina had gone away--depriving him of her pleasant
companionship, her quick sympathy, her grave and almost matron-like
remonstrances--there