“Alone in her room, her feelings gave way, and none save those who like her have suffered, can conceive of her anguish, as prostrate upon the floor she lay, her long silken curls falling about her white face, which looked ghastly and haggard by the moonlight that fell softly about her, as if to soothe her woe.

“What is it,” she cried aloud—­“this dark mystery, which I cannot explain.”

The next moment she thought of Mr. Graham.  He could explain it—­he must explain it.  She would go to him the next day, asking him what it meant.  She felt sure that he could make it plain, for suspicious as matters looked, she exculpated him from any wrong intention toward her.  Still she could not sleep, and when the gray morning light crept in, it found her too much exhausted to rise.

For several days she kept her room, carefully attended by Mabel and her grandmother, who, at the first intimation of her illness, hastened down to nurse her.  Every day did ’Lena ask of Mr. Douglass if Mr. Graham had been in the city, saying that the first time he came she wished to see him.  Days, however, went by, and nothing was seen or heard from him, until at last John Jr.; who visited her daily, casually informed her that Mr. Graham had been unexpectedly called away to South Carolina.  A distant relative of his had died, bequeathing him a large property, which made it necessary for him to go there immediately; so without waiting for the return of his wife, he had started off, leaving Woodlawn alone.

“Gone to South Carolina!” exclaimed ’Lena.  “When will he return?”

“Nobody knows.  He’s away from home more than half the time, just as I should be if Mrs. Graham were my wife,” answered John Jr., at the same time playfully remarking that ’Lena need not look so blank, as it was not Durward who had gone so far.

For an instant ’Lena resolved to tell him everything and ask him what to do, but knowing how impetuous he was when at all excited, she finally decided to keep her own secret, determining, however, to write to Mr. Graham, as soon as she was able.  Just before John Jr. left her, she called him to her side, asking him if he would do her the favor of seeing that Vesta was sent back to Woodlawn, as she did not wish for her any longer.

“What the plague is that for—­has mother been raising a row?” asked John Jr., and ’Lena replied, “No, no, your mother has nothing to do with it.  I only want Vesta taken home.  I cannot at present tell you why, but I have a good reason, and some time, perhaps, I’ll explain.  You’ll do it, won’t you?”

With the determination of questioning Durward as to what had happened, John Jr. promised, and when Mrs. Graham and her son returned from Louisville, they found Vesta safely stabled with their other horses, while the saddle with its tiny slipper hung upon a beam, and seemingly looked down with reproach upon Durward, who turned away with a bitter pang as he thought of the morning when he first took it to Maple Grove.