Ronald Valchester grew very tired of the role of invalid. His mother and Mrs. Earle and Violet all vied in attentions to him. They were always arranging his pillows, bringing him flowers, and "fussing over him," as Walter laughingly termed it. The young man was growing exceedingly impatient. He declared that he was well enough to go back to Richmond, and Doctor Leslie at last agreed with him. So they decided one day to start the next day for home.

In the meantime Ronald had enjoyed a few rides in Mrs. Earle's pretty little phaeton with Walter or Violet as his companion. The cool, bracing air of autumn made him feel stronger and better. Mrs. Valchester thought she would soon have him well when once she had taken him home with her.

"Violet," she said, the afternoon of the day on which they were to leave that night, "Walter is going down to Richmond with us. I wish you would go also. Cannot you go, dear?"

Violet looked up with a deep flush of pleasure crimsoning her cheeks.

"If mamma is willing, I can see no reason to prevent," she said, her heart beating high at the thought, for she had been grieving over the thoughts of the near departure of the man she loved so vainly.

"You must ask your papa, love," replied Mrs. Earle, with placid unconsciousness.

"Papa and Walter are going over to the town," said Violet, unable to conceal her disappointment. "They are on some odious law business, and if I wait for their return it is quite likely I shall not have time to pack my trunk—so you will have to excuse me, Mrs. Valchester."

Ronald looked across at her from over the top of the book he was apparently reading. He saw that she was disappointed, though he had no idea of the reason. He did not dream that Violet loved him. He thought she was simply like other girls—weary of the monotony of country life, and longing for the gaiety of the city.

"If you will let me have a horse, Mrs. Earle," he said, "I will ride over to the town and hasten the truants back."

"You are not strong enough to bear horse-back exercise, otherwise I have no objection," replied Mrs. Earle.

"I am quite strong enough," protested Ronald. "You ladies are keeping me an invalid too long. A mile ride through this pleasant air would brace me up. I believe it would do me good."

"Perhaps it would be better to take the phaeton," suggested Violet, who saw therein a chance to accompany him.

But Ronald insisted that horse-back exercise would please him best, and the three ladies yielded the point and allowed him to have his own way.

It was very unwise of Ronald, perhaps, but his passionate hunger to see Jaquelina again had been mainly instrumental in sending him out that evening. The perfect silence everyone maintained regarding her, instead of cooling the fever of his heart added new fires to it. Although his peculiar views regarding divorce precluded the idea that they should ever be aught to each other again, he could not cease to love her.

"It is quite impossible I should ever cease to love her," he said to himself as he rode along under the interlacing boughs of the trees. "I long to see her again, to hear her voice, to touch her hand. And yet I know that I am unwise. But if they had talked to me about her, if they had even called her name I think I could have borne it better. The strange silence they keep maddens me with suspense. It is just as if my lost little Lina were dead."

He sighed deeply, and the thought came to him that it were better indeed if she were dead—better than this separation. He wondered if Lina was as miserable over it as he found himself.

He persuaded himself that it would not be wrong to go and bid Lina a last farewell, and tell her that he was going away—far away in the hope of forgetting her. He could not leave the neighborhood without one more look in the dark eyes that had won his heart. It seemed to him that one look into the fair young face, one sound of the winning voice would cool the fever and thirst of his heart.

He turned into the road that led to Meredith farm, and, almost before he knew it, found himself dismounted and tying the bridle-rein to the orchard gate. Then he opened the gate and went down the path expecting every moment to come upon Lina under the trees, reading or dreaming as of old. His pale face flushed, his heart beat quick, his whole frame trembled with the pain and pleasure of seeing Jaquelina again.

He walked on full of the thought of the girl he loved so wildly and came upon an unexpected tableau. Mrs. Meredith was under a tree with a basket, busily filling it with great red-cheeked winter apples. Little Dollie, frisking beside her, uttered a cry, and she looked around.

"Oh! Mr. Valchester!" she exclaimed, surprised and embarrassed at his sudden appearance.

"Good-evening, Mrs. Meredith," he replied, in equal surprise and confusion.

"I have come to bid Lina good-bye—I am going home to-night. Can you tell me where to find her?"

Mrs. Meredith straightened up and looked at him in surprise. She did not know how carefully they had kept the truth from him.

"My dear sir, I wish I could tell you," she said, full of a certain remorseful pity over poor Jaquelina's fate. "We hain't never heard a word since she went away!"

"Went away—where?" asked Ronald Valchester, blankly; then he added at her look of surprise: "I thought she was at home all the time."

"Oh! dear me," cried Mrs. Meredith; "why, she disappeared all of a sudden, sir, the very day that she left Laurel Hill after visiting you there. Mr. Walter was the last person that ever saw her. We have never seen nor heard of her since, and Mr. Meredith's nigh crazy over it. Did Mr. Walter never tell you, sir?"

But Ronald Valchester did not stay to answer her. He turned away like one in a dream and walked back to the gate, mounted his horse, and rode away as though on an errand of life or death.