M.
O.
A sudden clattering, nerve-shaking, strident peal at the front-
door bell.
I flew down the stairs. It was news of Carlotta. It was
Carlotta herself brought back to me. My heart swelled with joy
as if it would burst. I knew that as I opened the door Carlotta
would fall laughing, weeping, sobbing into my arms.
I opened the door. It was only a police officer in plain
clothes.
"Sir Marcus Ordeyne?"
"Yes."
"We have traced the young lady all right. She left London by the
two-twenty Continental express from Victoria with Mr. Sebastian
Pasquale."
CHAPTER XVIII
November 1st.
Five days ago the blow fell, and I am only now recovering; only
now awakening to the horrible pain of it.
I have gone about like a man in a dream. Blurred visages of men
with far-away voices have saluted me at the club. Innumerable
lines of print which my eyes have scanned have been destitute of
meaning. I have forced myself to the mechanical task of copying
piles of rough notes for my History; I have been able to bring
thereto not an atom of intelligence; popes, princes, painters are
a category of disassociated names, less evocative of ideas than
the columns in the Post Office London Directory.
Pages:
300
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