Blind Love

After his interview with the Irish lord, Mountjoy waited for two days,

in the expectation of hearing from Iris. No reply arrived. Had Mr.

Vimpany failed to forward the letter that had been entrusted to him?

On the third day, Hugh wrote to make inquiries.

The doctor returned the letter that had been confided to his care, and

complained in his reply of the ungrateful manner in which he had been

treated. Miss Henley had not trusted him with her new address in

London; and Lord Harry had suddenly left Redburn Road; bidding his host

goodbye in a few lines of commonplace apology, and nothing more. Mr.

Vimpany did not deny that he had been paid for his medical services;

but, he would ask, was nothing due to friendship? Was one man justified

in enjoying another man's hospitality, and then treating him like a

stranger? "I have done with them both--and I recommend you, my dear

sir, to follow my example." In those terms the angry (and sober) doctor

expressed his sentiments, and offered his advice.

Mountjoy laid down the letter in despair.

His last poor chance of preventing the marriage depended on his being

still able to communicate with Iris--and she was as completely lost to

him as if she had taken flight to the other end of the world. It might

have been possible to discover her by following the movements of Lord

Harry, but he too had disappeared without leaving a trace behind him.

The precious hours and days were passing--and Hugh was absolutely

helpless.

Tortured by anxiety and suspense, he still lingered at the hotel in

London. More than once, he decided on giving up the struggle, and

returning to his pretty cottage in Scotland. More than once, he

deferred taking the journey. At one time, he dreaded to hear that Iris

was married, if she wrote to him. At another time, he felt mortified

and disappointed by the neglect which her silence implied. Was she near

him, or far from him? In England, or out of England? Who could say!

After more weary days of waiting and suffering a letter arrived,

addressed to Mountjoy in a strange handwriting, and bearing the

post-mark of Paris. The signature revealed that his correspondent was

Lord Harry.

His first impulse was to throw the letter into the fire, unread. There

could be little doubt, after the time that had passed, of the

information that it would contain. Could he endure to be told of the

marriage of Iris, by the man who was her husband? Never! There was

something humiliating in the very idea of it. He arrived at that

conclusion--and what did he do in spite of it? He read the letter.