e has caused you trouble. Do not be
too hard on me. I am leaving now, and do not intend to worry
you again. You must lead your own life until, perhaps, some
day you wish to return to me. You will find me ready to
welcome you. Good-bye, and forgive any pain I have caused
you.--Your affectionate wife,
JANE."

Hamilton read this note with amazement, and a sense of its falsity
swept over him, as if a wind had risen from the paper and struck
his face. But as men too often do, he tried to thrust away his
first true instincts, and replace their warning with a lumbering
reason. He sat deep in thought, gazing at the table before him. If
it were true, if she were really going, if she really meant
good-bye, what a relief! But it was impossible, unless, indeed, she
had accomplished her plan, and had heard that he had been, or was
about to be dismissed from his post.

This seemed to throw a light upon the matter, and with the idea of
finding confirmation of this in some of the other letters awaiting
him, he started to go through them. It was a heavy post-bag, and
gave him much to attend to. He went through the letters, but found
nothing relative to himself in them, and settled down to his work.
Twelve, one, and two passed, and he looked up at the clock,
wondering if she were really gone. He seemed to have no inclination
for lunch, so he worked on without leaving the office, and only
rose to clear his desk when it was time to leave for the day.
To-morrow he would learn definitely what passengers the out-going
boat had carried. He would not stay this evening to find out. He
felt ill, listless; he only wanted to be back with Saidie in the
restful shade of the palms.

As he rode across the desert that evening an indefinable depression
hung over him. Never since he had found Saidie had that melancholy,
once so natural, come back to him. Her spirit, whether she were
absent or present, seemed always with him--a gay, bright, beautiful
vision ever before his eyes, giving him the feeling that he was
looking always into sunlight. But to-night there seemed emptiness,
gloom about him.

"It's the weather," he muttered, and looked upward to the curious
sky. It was gold, gleaming gold; but close to the horizon lay two
bright purple bars, like lines of writing in the West: the prophecy
of a storm, and the heat seemed to hang in the air that not a
faintest breath moved.

Swiftly and