they had seen Mrs. Faber wear.  There was no room left for doubt; the body of the poor lady was lying at the bottom of the pool!  A multitude rushed at once to the spot, although they knew it was impossible to drag the pool, so deep was it, and for its depth so small.  Neither would she ever come to the surface, they said, for the pikes and eels would soon leave nothing but the skeleton.  So Glaston took the whole matter for ended, and began to settle down again to its own affairs, condoling greatly with the poor gentleman, such a favorite! who, so young, and after such a brief experience of marriage, had lost, in such a sad way, a wife so handsome, so amiable, so clever.  But some said a doctor ought to have known better than marry such a person, however handsome, and they hoped it would be a lesson to him.  On the whole, so sorry for him was Glaston, that, if the doctor could then have gone about it invisible, he would have found he had more friends and fewer enemies than he had supposed.

For the first two or three days no one was surprised that he did not make his appearance.  They thought he was upon some false trail.  But when four days had elapsed and no news was heard of him, for his friend knew nothing of what had happened, had written to Mrs. Faber, and the letter lay unopened, some began to hint that he must have had a hand in his wife’s disappearance, and to breathe a presentiment that he would never more be seen in Glaston.  On the morning of the fifth day, however, his accident was known, and that he was lying insensible at the house of his friend, Dr. May; whereupon, although here and there might be heard the expression of a pretty strong conviction as to the character of the visitation, the sympathy both felt and uttered was larger than before.  The other medical men immediately divided his practice amongst them, to keep it together against his possible return, though few believed he would ever again look on scenes darkened by the memory of bliss so suddenly blasted.

For weeks his recovery was doubtful, during which time, even if they had dared, it would have been useless to attempt acquainting him with what all believed the certainty of his loss.  But when at length he woke to a memory of the past, and began to desire information, his friend was compelled to answer his questions.  He closed his lips, bowed his head on his breast, gave a great sigh, and held his peace.  Every one saw that he was terribly stricken.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

THE MIND OF JULIET.

There was one, however, who, I must confess, was not a little relieved at the news of what had befallen Faber.  For, although far from desiring his death, which indeed would have ruined some of her warmest hopes for Juliet, Dorothy greatly dreaded meeting him.  She was a poor dissembler, hated even the shadow of a lie, and here was a fact, which, if truth could conceal it, must not be known.  Her dread