She had left New Leeds more than a week before, as was supposed by her relatives, the Turleys, to pay a visit to friends in the adjoining State before returning home.  To others she had said that she was going to the North for a visit, whilst yet others affirmed that she had given another destination.  However this might be, she had left not long after Wickersham had taken his departure, and her leaving was soon coupled with his name.  One man even declared that he had seen the two together in New York.

Another name was connected with the girl’s disappearance, though in a different way.  Terpsichore suggested that Mr. Plume had had something to do with it, and that he could give information on the subject if he would.  Mr. Plume had been away from New Leeds for several days about the time of Phrony’s departure.

“He did that Wickersham’s dirty work for him; that is, what he didn’t do for himself,” declared the young woman.

Plume’s statement was that he had been off on private business and had met with an accident.  The nature of this “accident” was evident in his appearance.

Keith was hardly surprised when, a day or two after the rumor of the girl’s disappearance reached him, a heavy step thumping outside his office door announced the arrival of Squire Rawson.  When the old man opened the door, Keith was shocked to see the change in him.  He was haggard and worn, but there was that in his face which made Keith feel that whoever might be concerned in his granddaughter’s disappearance had reason to beware of meeting him.

“You have heard the news?” he said, as he sank into the chair which Keith offered him.

Keith said that he had heard it, and regretted it more than he could express.  He had only waited, hoping that it might prove untrue, to write to him.

“Yes, she has gone,” added the old man, moodily.  “She’s gone off and married without sayin’ a word to me or anybody.  I didn’t think she’d ‘a’ done it.”

Keith gasped with astonishment.  A load appeared to be lifted from him.  After all, she was married.  The next moment this hope was dashed by the squire.

“I always thought,” said the old man, “that that young fellow was hankerin’ around her a good deal.  I never liked him, because I didn’t trust him.  And I wouldn’t ‘a’ liked him anyway,” he added frankly; “and I certainly don’t like him now.  But—.”  He drifted off into reflection for a moment and then came back again—­“Women-folks are curious creatures.  Phrony’s mother she appeared to like him, and I suppose we will have to make up with him.  So I hev come up here to see if I can git his address.”

Keith’s heart sank within him.  He knew Ferdy Wickersham too well not to know on what a broken reed the old man leaned.

“Some folks was a-hintin’,” pursued the old fellow, speaking slowly, “as, maybe, that young man hadn’t married her; but I knowed better then that, because, even if Phrony warn’t a good girl,—­which she is, though she ain’t got much sense,—­he knowed me.  They ain’t none of ’em ever intimated that to me,” he added explanatorily.