"I know that I have never liked Mr. Holbrook--never liked or trusted him
from the first, though he has been civil enough and kind enough in his
own distant way to me. That dear young lady could not disappear off the
face of the earth, as it seems she has done, without the evil work of
some one. As to her leaving this place of her own free will, without a
word of warning to her husband or to me, that I am sure she would never
dream of doing. No, sir, there has been foul play of some kind, and I'm
afraid I shall never see that dear face again."
The girl said this with an air of conviction that sent a deadly chill to
Gilbert Fenton's heart. It seemed to him in this moment of supreme
anguish as if all his trouble of the past, all his vague fears and
anxieties about the woman he loved, had been the foreshadowing of this
evil to come. He had a blank helpless feeling, a dismal sense of his own
weakness, which for the moment mastered him. Against any ordinary
calamity he would have held himself bravely enough, with the natural
strength of an ardent hopeful character; but against this mysterious
catastrophe courage and manhood could avail nothing. She was gone, the
fragile helpless creature he had pledged himself to protect; gone from
all who knew her, leaving not the faintest clue to her fate.
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