oned
away. The Negro had looked scrutinizingly at Mrs. Johnson, and now arose
hurriedly, evidently satisfied with his inspection. When Mrs. Johnson
recovered consciousness, she asked wildly,

"Where is he? The Negro, where is he? Ah, he will----"

Mr. Johnson, who had been summoned from the library to assist in caring
for his wife, placed his hand over her mouth and prevented her from
talking further.

Tiara, who had become somewhat dazed by Mrs. Johnson's treatment, had
not stopped to help care for the swooning woman, but had walked away as
one in a trance. How she made her way back to Almaville, she never
knew.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

_Back in Almaville._

The Hon. H. G. Volrees sat in his office room looking moodily out of the
window. Since the desertion of his young bride his life had been one
long day of misery to him. His mystification and anger increased with
the years, and he had kept a standing offer of a large reward for
information leading to the discovery of his wife. He had vowed vengeance
upon the author or authors of his ruin.

"Come in," said he in a response to a knock on his door.

A young Negro man walked in and Mr. Volrees turned around slowly to look
at his caller.

"This is Mr. Volrees?" asked the Negro.

Mr. Volrees nodded assent, surveying the Negro from head to foot, noting
the flush of excitement on his swarthy face.

"I understand that you have offered a reward for information leading to
the discovery of the whereabouts of your wife," said the Negro.

An angry flush appeared on Mr. Volrees' face and he cast a look of
withering contempt in the Negro's direction, who read at once Mr.
Volrees' disgust over the fact that he, a Negro, dared to broach the
question of his family trouble.

"Pardon me," said the Negro, turning to leave.

"Come back! Are you a fool?" said Mr. Volrees angrily, his desire for
information concerning his wife overcoming his scruples.

"My wife took me to be one and left me," said the Negro in a tone of
mock humility.

Mr. Volrees looked up quickly to see whether he meant what he was saying
or was making a thrust at him. The solemn face of the Negro was
non-committal.

"Now, what do you know?" asked Mr. Volrees gruffly.

"I know where your wife is," said the Negro.

"How do you know that she is my wife?"

"I was the porter on the train that you and she began your bridal tour
on," replied the Negro.

"How have you been able to trace her?"

"I