Leaving Floy to explain matters to her new-found father, we must return to Mount Vernon and follow our hero in his search for his missing love.

At his hotel, which was located within a square of the Maury mansion, he found that the all-absorbing subject of conversation was of the disasters that had befallen the Maury family within the last twenty-four hours.

The great importing house of Maury & Co. had failed yesterday, and the head of the house had fallen dead of a stroke of apoplexy.

And following on this calamity to the devoted wife and family was the mysterious disappearance of Otho and Maybelle.

Last evening they had retired early to their rooms, seemingly prostrated with grief over the death of their kind, indulgent parent.

This morning they were missing, and no clew to them could be found.

When St. George Beresford heard this news his heart sunk within him in prophetic dread.

Knowing what he did of Otho and Maybelle’s nocturnal wanderings at Suicide Place, he could come to but one conclusion.

Floy was their prisoner, as Landon had suspected, and fearing detection, they had spirited her away to another place.

“We have come too late!” he cried, bursting into Alva’s presence in a quiver of emotion, and falling wearily into a chair.

“No—no; you must not tell me so,” she exclaimed, with keen regret; and then he poured out the whole story.

Alva saw the situation in all its terror. She did not know what to say to her brother, but she saw that she must offer him some comfort to save him from utter despair.

He had grown frightfully pale, and the despair in his beautiful eyes made her heart ache.

It seemed to her as if his very life was bound up in his sweetheart Floy—as if the failure to find her would surely break his heart.

She could not permit him to give up hope, although she herself had almost lost heart.

“You must not lose heart like this. That old house must be searched!” she cried, with such cheerful eagerness that he was inspired with fresh courage.

“Then I will go at once!” he cried, starting up.

“The sooner the better,” agreed Alva; and within an hour they were on their way, Alva choosing to accompany him, because she wished to be on the spot to solace his sorrow if he failed to find Floy.

She was determined to do all she could for him, openly blaming herself for the flight of the girl.

“It was my idle chatter to her that made her lose faith in him and run away, so I must do what I can to atone,” she said.

At the very last they decided to go alone.

St. George remembered the gruesome character of Suicide Place, and how he had heard that no one could be persuaded to go there for love or money.

Besides, he shrunk from creating a useless sensation, for he had little hope now of finding his darling there.

“You know all the terrible things that Landon told me. Are you willing to risk the horrors of the place?” he asked Alva, anxiously.

Alva was a magnificent woman, in high health and with strong nerves. She laughed at her brother’s question.

“I am not at all afraid that the ghosts will rout me!” she replied, gayly.

So they ordered a carriage to take them out, and the driver was almost petrified with astonishment when they told him to drive past Suicide Place.

It was nearing sunset when they reached the grim old building in its splendid grove of trees, and again the driver gasped with amazement when told to stop there.

“We are going to walk through that splendid grove,” explained Alva, carelessly.

“But, begging your pardon, miss, surely you don’t know what an awful name the place bears. I wouldn’t set foot inside that gate for a thousand dollars, poor as I am!” cried the man, in consternation.

“Oh, yes, I do know all about the place, but I don’t believe those spook tales, and my brother and I are determined to explore those grounds so that we can boast of our bravery hereafter. So you may wait for us here,” laughed Alva; and she was vastly amused when she saw the disgusted man drive off to the opposite side of the road so as to be as far as possible from the place.

But as she went in through the gates, out of the glory of the August sunlight that flooded the west, into the heavy shallows of the dark grove, the smile faded from Alva’s ruby lips, and a subtle premonition of evil began to weigh on her spirits.

As for St. George, he was remembering the first time he came here—that May night that seemed so long ago now, when he had followed Floy, warned of her peril by that strange dream, and saved her from the insults of Otho Maury.

How freshly it all came back—the sweet May night cool with soft spring rain, the breeze laden with odors of wet lilacs tossing their purple plumes against the windows.

How sweet she had been! how grateful, bonnie little Floy! He remembered, as if it were last night, their ride home, and how they had parted at the door betrothed lovers! He could still feel that sweet, dewy kiss on his lips in all its divine bliss, and he stifled a bitter groan as he remembered all that had come and gone since then, parting them so cruelly from each other.

He felt Alva shudder as she clung to his arm, and looking down at her face, saw that it was pale and grave, with somber eyes.

“Alva, you are ill, or frightened!” he cried, anxiously.

“No, no; go on!” she answered, urging him on, and trying to shake off her strange depression.

The spell fell over St. George, too, and icy fingers seemed to clutch at his heart. He muttered, in a strange voice:

“I—I am not a coward, Alva; I do not wish to turn back; but I have a feeling that we are going to confront—something terrible.”

“Yes, yes; but—go on!” she whispered back, with white lips.

They moved slowly, arm in arm, around the winding walk toward the side of the house, as St. George had gone that first night, toward the side door.

Everything was so still they could hear the beating of their own hearts.

“The door stands ajar. Perhaps I had better go in alone. You are nervous, Alva,” he whispered.

“Not at all; but the place has a depressing influence—doubtless from the stories told of it,” she murmured, clinging to him, and, indeed, putting her foot first upon the threshold.

They went mutely along the gloomy hall, expecting to hear the silence broken by those awful demoniac shrieks of which Landon had told. But all was still—awfully still.

Close to them a door swung wide open. They stopped, and looked with curious eyes at what lay beyond the threshold—two bodies, white and cold in death, lying side by side in a pool of clotted blood that showed dark in the sunset light streaming through the open window.