hear anywhere around. She returned to where she had stood when first
beholding it, and looked in the same direction, but nothing reappeared.
The only object at all resembling a little boy or girl was the upper tuft
of a bunch of fern, which had prematurely yellowed to about the colour of
a fair child's hair, and waved occasionally in the breeze. This,
however, did not sufficiently explain the phenomenon, and she returned to
make inquiries of the man whom she had left at work, removing the last
traces of Swithin's cabin. But he had gone with her departure and the
approach of night. Feeling an indescribable dread she retraced her
steps, and hastened homeward doubting, yet half believing, what she had
seemed to see, and wondering if her imagination had played her some
trick.

The tranquil mournfulness of her night of solitude terminated in a most
unexpected manner.

The morning after the above-mentioned incident Lady Constantine, after
meditating a while, arose with a strange personal conviction that bore
curiously on the aforesaid hallucination. She realized a condition of
things that she had never anticipated, and for a moment the discovery of
her state so overwhelmed her that she thought she must die outright. In
her terror she said she had sown the wind to reap the whirlwind. Then
the instinct of self-preservation flamed up in her like a fire. Her
altruism in subjecting her self-love to benevolence, and letting Swithin
go away from her, was demolished by the new necessity, as if it had been
a gossamer web.

There was no resisting or evading the spontaneous plan of action which
matured in her mind in five minutes. Where was Swithin? how could he be
got at instantly?--that was her ruling thought. She searched about the
room for his last short note, hoping, yet doubting, that its contents
were more explicit on his intended movements than the few meagre
syllables which alone she could call to mind. She could not find the
letter in her room, and came downstairs to Louis as pale as a ghost.

He looked up at her, and with some concern said, 'What's the matter?'

'I am searching everywhere for a letter--a note from Mr. St. Cleeve--just
a few words telling me when the _Occidental_ sails, that I think he goes
in.'

'Why do you want that unimportant document?'

'It is of the utmost importance that I should know whether he has
actually sailed or not!' said she in agonized tones. 'Where _can_ that
letter be?'