"Running away, evidently! could any one have conceived the possibility of
her doing so crazy a thing!" he muttered, as he took her in his arms.
Then a dark thought crossed his mind, but he put it determinately from
him.
"No; I will not, cannot think it! She is pure, guileless, and innocent as
an infant."
He stooped again, picked up the bag, closed the door softly, and carried
her up-stairs--treading with caution lest a stumble or the sound of his
footsteps should arouse some one and lead to the discovery of what was
going on; yet with as great celerity as consistent with that caution,
fearing consciousness might return too soon for the preservation of the
secrecy he desired.
But it did not; she was still insensible when he laid her down on a couch
in her boudoir.
He took off her hat and veil, threw them aside, loosened her dress, opened
a window to give her air, then went into the dressing-room for the night
lamp usually kept burning there.
As he turned it up, his eye fell upon Zoe's note.
He knew her handwriting instantly.
"Here is the explanation," was the thought that flashed into his mind, and
snatching it up, he tore open the envelope, held the card near the light
and read what her fingers had traced scarcely an hour ago.
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