When Walter Earle parted from Jaquelina at the lawn gates, he went back to the house with two distinct thoughts in his mind. One was a feeling of indignation and surprise against Ronald Valchester. He was amazed at learning that his friend was an unbeliever in divorces. He firmly resolved to give Ronald a lecture on the subject, when he should be sufficiently recovered to argue the case. His second thought, which he could not help entertaining, was, that since affairs had taken this peculiar turn, there was some hope still for himself.

"After the divorce is granted, I will do my utmost to re-unite them," he said, still loyal to Ronald and Lina in spite of his love for her; "and then if I fail of converting Ronald, I will woo little Lina for myself. Ronald could not accuse me of disloyalty to him in that case."

He could not help feeling that Ronald Valchester's defection must place his own suit in a better light before Jaquelina's eyes. The divorce from the outlaw was only a question of time, Walter thought. They could not fail to grant it. Indeed, it seemed to Walter that it could scarcely be viewed as a marriage at all. Jaquelina once freed from its fetters, she could not help feeling a little indignant at Valchester's view of the case, and, once over the smart of her pain, it seemed to Walter that his own loyal love could not fail to find favor in her eyes.

"And then—who knows?" mused Walter. "Jaquelina once out of his reach, and by his own decision, too, the heart of Valchester may, in time, turn to Violet. Poor little Violet! She has borne her pain bravely, but I am certain that she has not got over it yet."

In spite of his sympathy for the sadly and strangely parted lovers, Walter could not repress a glow of satisfaction at the thought that, after all, his own happiness and that of his sister might be secured by the strange events that had seemed so deplorable at first. Yet he resolved that he would first do all he could to change Valchester's opinion of divorces.

He went back to the sick-room and found his friend very ill and weak. The doctor warned him there must be no talking—his patient could not bear to be excited. He lay back upon the pillow, his handsome face pale as marble, the long, dark lashes lying motionless on his cheek, yet they knew that he was not asleep, only spent and exhausted by the tempest of emotion that had passed over him. His mother sat quietly by the bed-side, looking pale and sad, and heart-broken in the gray morning light. She had telegraphed for General Valchester, and looked anxiously for his arrival at any hour of the day.

As the day wore on, the wound developed a dangerous phase. Fever and delirium set in; Ronald's pale face grew scarlet, his dim eyes bright with fever fires. He tossed restlessly on his pillows, and babbled ceaselessly of his loved Lina, interspersing his flighty murmurs with poetical quotations. "Hiawatha's Wooing" seemed to linger in his mind like a pleasant dream. He would murmur over and over:

And again:

At noon General Valchester arrived. He had a brief, private interview with Dr. Leslie; then they telegraphed for a celebrated Richmond physician.

The brooding shadows of the death-angel's wing hung dark and heavy over Laurel Hill.

In the rainy, dreary sunset Charlie Meredith drove over in his buggy.

"I would have come sooner," he said, "but I have been to town to consult a lawyer for my niece. So when I got home and wife told me Lina had never got back, I thought I'd drive over and inquire after Mr. Valchester, and fetch her home if she'd a mind to go."

Mr. Earle, to whom he was talking, looked at him with a start of surprise.

"I am sorry to say that Mr. Valchester is in a very critical condition," he replied. "After his father came up at noon to-day he immediately telegraphed for a physician from Richmond."

"I am sorry to hear that," said Mr. Meredith. "Perhaps, then, my niece will not be ready to go home yet?"

And again Mr. Earle looked surprised.

"Miss Meredith went home at daylight this morning," he answered.

"Eh—what? I don't think I understand you," said Charlie Meredith.

"Your niece went home at daylight this morning," Mr. Earle repeated.

The farmer's healthy brown skin turned pale. He looked dazed.

"Mr. Earle, you must be mistaken," he said. "Lina has never been home to-day. She walked over here yesterday afternoon, and she has not been at home since."

"She certainly left Laurel Hill early this morning," Mr. Earle said, perplexed. "Walter walked with her to the lawn gates. He wished to drive her over in the phaeton, but she declined, so he told me, and insisted on going home alone. I sincerely trust that no harm has befallen little Lina."

Mr. Meredith looked grave and a good deal troubled.

"Is it not strange she should have started home so soon in the morning? I cannot understand it."

Walter came out just then. He grew pale when they told him that Jaquelina had never come home that day. He remembered what a hopeless despair had looked at him from the dark eyes and the fair young face when they parted.

"And yet I never dreamed of anything wrong," he said to himself, with a pang of pain at his heart. "Oh, why did I let her go alone? I should have known better from the look on her face."

He said aloud, more cheerfully than he felt:

"Perhaps she grew weary and stopped in at some of the neighbors to rest. I will go with you to inquire, Mr. Meredith."

"I shall be glad of your company," said the farmer. "I think it is very likely you have hit on the truth, Walter. She must have grown tired and stopped in at some of the neighbors."

"And you may, perhaps, find her already at home when you reach there," said Mr. Earle, who thought that his son's idea was the correct one.

But Walter was not so sanguine. He got into the buggy and drove away with Mr. Meredith, but he was not surprised when one neighbor after another declared that Jaquelina had not been seen by any one of them that day.

All inquiry and all search failed to unravel the mystery of her disappearance. No one had seen her since she turned away from Walter Earle at the lawn gates that morning, and when he remembered the look upon her face that moment he shuddered and thought of the river.

He told Mr. Meredith of his fears.

The next day the river was dragged, but to no avail. Jaquelina had vanished as utterly as if the solid earth had opened beneath her feet and received her into its bosom.

Many believed that Gerald Huntington had carried her off again, and a party was organized to explore the woods in the hope of discovering the cave which Jaquelina had described to them as the rendezvous of the outlaws.