ter," he hissed, "that accursed letter, what has it told? I
must know! I must know the worst! blind fool that I was to let my own
hand bring this about. Oh! this is horrible! Am I lost or--"

Suddenly he seemed to recollect himself and dropping into a chair he
buried his passion-distorted face in his arms and so awaited the coming
of Constance.

He had not long to wait; soon his listening ear caught the gentle
opening and closing of the door, and then he felt a light hand upon his
arm, and a sweet pitying voice said: "Poor Frank, poor boy, don't let
this overcome you so."

[Illustration: "Poor Frank, don't let this overcome you."]

One hand reached up and clasped the soft hand that rested on his arm,
but he did not lift his head, as he said brokenly:

"Tell me the worst, Constance."

"Why, Frank! the worst is told."

"But," his hand tightened its clasp, "_you_ know more than she has told
me."

"No, Frank, nothing more."

He lifted his pale face again.

"Constance--that letter."

She started and flushed.

"What letter, Frank?"

"You know," his eyes scanning her face hungrily. "Her letter. The one I
brought you two days ago. What was it?"

She drew away her hand.

"It was a note of farewell, Frank. Nothing more."

"Then she told you?" he gasped,--caught his lips between his teeth, and
waited for her to finish the sentence.

"She told me nothing, Frank. Oh, I wish she had."

He sprang up, overturning his chair in his hasty excitement.

"Nothing!" he cried "she told you _nothing_?"

"Absolutely nothing. The letter was an enigma. How strangely you act,
Frank. I can't understand you."

Slowly the life color returned to his cheeks and lips, as he answered,
or stammered:

"Pardon me, Constance. I thought--I feared--I hoped there might be some
explanation. I thought she must have given you some reason for so
horrible a step. Are you sure there is no hint, no clue to help us?"

"Frank, listen: Sybil's note explained nothing. It only implored me not
to think harshly of her, when I should know what she had done, and bade
me farewell. I could not comprehend its meaning until the news reached
me that she had fled."

"And you can not guess why she did this thing?"

"No."

He turned away, putting his hand up before his face, and uttering a
groan. Then he moved toward one of the French windows, pushed it open,
and leaned out.

"I feel as if I were going mad," he muttered. "Constance, pardon me; I
mu