All this he thought of, and while love and wounded pride were both struggling for mastery, he reached the door where he had once been a welcomed and an honored guest.
"Is Mr. Milburn in?" he asked of the maid who answered the bell.
"No, sir, he left this morning for Boston; will you leave a message."
"Oh! no. I shall wire him, if you will give me his address."
He tried so hard to speak lightly, but lamentably failed in the attempt. Without being conscious of it he had spoken in almost an imploring tone.
So Robert was out of his reach; what should Marrion do now? He could not think; he had gone through so much excitement lately that his brain felt in a confused tangle, he was unable to calculate coolly; one thing he knew, that his mental agony was beyond endurance. In thought, word, and deed, he had been true to Robert, but that the other might never know until the history of man is carried from time to eternity, where none can erase or alter it.
"Who was the gentleman?" Mrs. Milburn asked, when the servant returned.
"A friend of yours, but he wanted to see your husband. It was Mr. Latham."
