to. How guilty I
seem, and how innocent she! O that I had told her before now!

1 o'clock.--No trace of her as yet. We find also that the little waiting-
maid we have here in training has disappeared with Caroline, and there is
not much doubt that Caroline, fearing to travel alone, has induced this
girl to go with her as companion. I am almost sure she has started in
desperation to find him, and that Venice is her goal. Why should she run
away, if not to join her husband, as she thinks him? Now that I
consider, there have been indications of this wish in her for days, as in
birds of passage there lurk signs of their incipient intention; and yet I
did not think she would have taken such an extreme step, unaided, and
without consulting me. I can only jot down the bare facts--I have no
time for reflections. But fancy Caroline travelling across the continent
of Europe with a chit of a girl, who will be more of a charge than an
assistance! They will be a mark for every marauder who encounters them.

Evening: 8 o'clock.--Yes, it is as I surmised. She has gone to join him.
A note posted by her in Budmouth Regis at daybreak has reached me this
afternoon--thanks to the fortunate chance of one of the servants calling
for letters in town to-day, or I should not have got it until to-morrow.
She merely asserts her determination of going to him, and has started
privately, that nothing may hinder her; stating nothing about her route.
That such a gentle thing should suddenly become so calmly resolute quite
surprises me. Alas, he may have left Venice--she may not find him for
weeks--may not at all.

My father, on learning the facts, bade me at once have everything ready
by nine this evening, in time to drive to the train that meets the night
steam-boat. This I have done, and there being an hour to spare before we
start, I relieve the suspense of waiting by taking up my pen. He says
overtake her we must, and calls Charles the hardest of names. He
believes, of course, that she is merely an infatuated girl rushing off to
meet her lover; and how can the wretched I tell him that she is more, and
in a sense better than that--yet not sufficiently more and better to make
this flight to Charles anything but a still greater danger to her than a
mere lover's impulse. We shall go by way of Paris, and we think we may
overtake her there. I hear my father walking restlessly up and down the
hall, and can write no more.

CHAPTER