self-possessed woman fearfully. But what it was Margie could not guess.

Mr. Trevlyn burst into the room, pale and exhausted.

"It is no use!" he said, throwing himself into a chair, "no use to try
to disguise the truth! There will be no wedding to-night, Margie! The
bridegroom has failed to come! The scoundrel! If I were ten years
younger, I would call him out for this insult!"

Margie laid her hand on his arm, a strange, new feeling of vague relief
pervading her. It was as if some great weight, under which her slender
strength had wearied and sank, were rolled off from her.

"Compose yourself, dear guardian, he may have been unavoidably detained.
Some business--"

"Business on his wedding-day! No, Margie! there is something wrong
somewhere. He is either playing us false--confound him!--or he has met
with some accident! By George! who knows but he has been waylaid and
murdered! The road from here to the depot, though short, is a lonely one,
with woods on either side! And Mr. Linmere carries always about his
person enough valuables to tempt a desperate character."

"I beg you not to suppose such a dreadful thing!" exclaimed Margie,
shuddering; "he will come in the morning, and--"

"But Hays was positive that he saw him leave the six o'clock train. He
described him accurately, even to the saying that he had a bouquet of
white camelias in his hand. Margie, what flowers was he to bring?"