“Where is Mrs. Lane?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” was answered.  “She went out this morning, and has not returned.”

“Where is Mary?”

“She took Mary with her.”

“Didn’t she say where she was going?”

“No, sir.”

Mr. Lane asked no more questions, but went back into the room from which he had just emerged, and, sitting down, covered his face with his hands, and endeavoured to collect his thoughts.

“Has she deserted me?” he asked of himself in an audible husky whisper.

His heart grew faint in the pause that followed.  As the idea of desertion became more and more distinct, Mr. Lane commenced searching about in order to see whether his wife had not left some communication for him, in which her purpose was declared.  But he found none.  She had departed without leaving a sign.  The night that followed was a sleepless one to Lane.  His mind was agitated by many conflicting emotions.  For hours, on the next day, he remained at home, in the expectation of seeing or hearing from Amanda.  But no word came.  Where had she gone?  That was the next question.  If he must go in search of hers in what direction should he turn his steps?  She had no relations in the city, and with those who resided at a distance she had cultivated no intimacy.

The whole day was passed in a state of irresolution.  To make the fact known was to expose a family difficulty that concerned only himself and wife; and give room for idle gossip and gross detraction.  Bad as the case was, the public would make it appear a great deal worse than the reality.  In the hope of avoiding this, he concealed the sad affair for the entire day, looking, in each recurring hour, for the return of his repentant wife.  But he looked in vain.  Night came gloomily down, and she was still absent.

He was sitting, about eight o’clock in the evening, undetermined yet what to do, when a gentleman with whom he was but slightly acquainted named Edmondson, called at the door and asked to see him.

On being shown in, the latter, with some embarrassment in his manner, said—­

“I have called to inform you, that Mrs. Lane has been at my house since yesterday.”

“At your house!”

“Yes.  She came there yesterday morning; and, since that time, my wife has been doing her best to induce her to return home.  But, so far, she has not been able to make the smallest impression.  Not wishing to become a party to the matter, I have called to see you on the subject.  I regret, exceedingly, that any misunderstanding has occurred, and do not intend that either myself or family shall take sides in so painful an affair.  All that I can do, however, to heal the difficulty, shall be done cheerfully.”

“What does she say?” asked Lane, when he had composed himself.

“She makes no specific complaint.”

“What does she propose doing?”