nts he gave himself great credit
for his forbearance when speaking of Morris, whom he hated so cordially.
Sealing the letter, and laying it in Katy's drawer just above where she
had left his, he tried to sleep; but the morning found him haggard and
tired, and Esther, as she poured his coffee, asked if he was sick.

"No," he answered, and then as he pushed back his chair, he said: "I
shall not be home again to-day, as Mrs. Cameron expects me to spend
Sunday at Yonkers."

And so all that day and the next, the doors were locked, the shutters
closed, the curtains dropped, while an ominous silence reigned
throughout the house; but when Monday came, and was halfway gone there
were inquiries made for Mr. Cameron by young Beverley and Lincoln, whose
faces looked anxious and disturbed at Esther's answer:

"He went to Yonkers, Saturday. I have not seen him since."

* * * * *

Out at Yonkers on Saturday night, three young wives had waited for their
husbands, and none more eagerly than Katy, who, fair as a lily, in her
dark dress, with her soft hair curling about her face, sat by the window
watching for the carriage from the station, hers the first ear to catch
the sound of wheels, and here the first form upon the piazza.

"Where's Wilford?" she asked, as only two alighted, and neither of them
her husband.

But no one could answer that question. The gentlemen had looked for him
at Chambers Street, expecting him every moment to join them. Perhaps he
was detained, he might come yet at twelve, they said, trying to comfort
Katy, who, with a sad foreboding, went back into the parlor, and tried
to join in the laugh and jest which seemed almost like mockery.
Something had happened to Wilford she was sure when the night train did
not bring him; and all the next day, while the Sunday bells pealed their
music in her ears, and the sounds of thoughtless mirth came up from the
room below, where the elaborate dinner was in progress, she lay upon her
pillow, her head almost bursting with pain, and her heart aching so
sadly as she tried to pray that no harm had befallen her husband. She
never dreamed of his desertion, even when about noon of the next day a
telegram came from Father Cameron, bidding her hasten to the city.
Wilford was sick or dead, probably the latter, was the feeling uppermost
in her mind, as she was borne rapidly to New York, where Mr. Cameron met
her, his face confirming her fears, but not p