that account, and had been
reared as carefully and tenderly as the daughters of the rich, and if
away down, in her mother's heart there had been a half defined hope that
some time the master of Tracy Park might turn his attention to her, it
had been hidden so closely that Mrs. Crawford scarcely knew of it
herself until she learned what her daughter was and what she might have
been. But it was too late now. There was no turning back the wheels of
fate.

Forcing herself to be as calm as possible, she took the note to Arthur,
who had breakfasted alone, and was waiting impatiently in the library
for the appearance of his friend.

'Lazy dog!' Mrs. Crawford heard him say, as she approached the open
door. 'Does he think he has nothing to do but to sleep? We were to start
by this time, and he in bed yet!'

'Are you speaking of Mr. Hastings?' Mrs. Crawford asked, as she stepped
into the room.

'Yes,' was his crisp and haughty reply, as if he resented the question,
and her presence there.

He could be very proud and stern when he felt like it, and one of these
moods was on him now, but Mrs. Crawford did not heed it, and sinking
into a chair, for she felt that she could not stand and face him, she
began:

'I came to tell you of Mr. Hastings and--Amy. She did not come to
breakfast, and I found this note in her room. She has gone to New York
with him. They took the eleven o'clock train last night. They are to be
married this morning, and sail in the Scotia for Europe.'

She had told her story, and paused for the result, which was worse than
she had expected.

For a moment Arthur Tracy stood staring at her, while his face grew
white as ashes, and into his dark eyes, usually so soft and mild, there
came a fiery gleam like that of a madman, as he seemed for a time to be.

'Amy gone with Harold, my friend!' he said at last. 'Gone to New York!
Gone to be married! Traitors! Vipers! Both of them. Curse them! If he
were here I'd shoot him like a dog; and she--I believe I would kill
her.'

He was walking the floor rapidly, and to Mrs. Crawford it seemed as if
he really were unsettled in his mind, he talked so incoherently and
acted so strangely.

'What else did she say?' he asked, suddenly, stopping and confronting
her. 'You have not told me all. Did she speak of me? Let me see the
note,' and he held his hand for it.

For a moment Mrs. Crawford hesitated, but as he grew more and more
persistent she suffered him to take it, a