That she was alarmed and troubled was evident. Her face was white, her
eyes were frightened and she trembled so that Aaron King helped her to a
seat; but she told them clearly, with no unnecessary, hysterical
exclamations, what had happened. Upon entering the house, after parting
from the two men at the gate, a few minutes before, she had found a letter
from Sibyl. The girl was gone.
As she spoke, she handed the letter to Conrad Lagrange who read it and
gave it to the artist. It was a pitiful little note--rather vague--saying
only that she must go away at once; assuring Myra that she had not meant
to do wrong; asking her to tell Mr. King and the novelist good-by; and
begging the artist's forgiveness that she had not understood.
Aaron King looked from the letter in his hand to the faces of his two
friends, in consternation. "Do you understand this, Miss Willard?" he
asked, when he could speak.
The woman shook her head. "Only that something has happened to make the
child think that her friendship with you has injured you; and that she has
gone away for your sake. She--she thought so much of you, Mr. King."
"And I--I love her, Miss Willard. I should have told you soon.
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