THE SILVER CORD.
BY SHIRLEY BROOKS.
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CHAPTER XXII.
After a fruitless search for the hotel mentioned by Silvain, as that at which a letter would be left for Mr. Lygon, the latter, whose nature was unsuspicious, endeavoured to retain the belief that a hasty message had been misunderstood, and that the Frenchman had accidentally directed him wrongly. But the sorrow, the excitement, and the irritation which Arthur had gone through since his wife’s departure from England began to tell upon him, and some darker thoughts than he had ever before admitted to his mind took the place of the frank and unsuspecting feeling with which he had been in the habit of receiving the statements of others. The transition was unfortunate for his own happiness, for a nature like his, once warped, often proceeds to subtleties of distrust and suspicion which tinge subsequent life with a gloom that no conviction can ever entirely dispel. The steel once tarnished may be polished never so carefully, at times the spots will re-appear upon the blade.
He lost little time in returning to the avenue. Expecting that Mrs. Urquhart might be denied to him, he had made up his mind not to leave the house again until he had had an interview with her. But her part had been assigned to her, and Lygon was at once admitted.
Bertha rose, gave him her hand, and spoke before he had time to address her.
“Arthur, what must you have thought of my unceremonious flight?”
“I might understand that, Bertha,” he said, almost sternly, “but not the absence of another, whom I come back to seek. Where is Laura?”
“That is what I have to tell you, but pray do not agitate me, for I am very ill.”
“You have only to answer a question.”
“First I must tell you that Henderson is out of her wits with alarm at the terrible mistake she