Evening found him at his uncle's mansion¹, as smiling as ever, with nothing to betray the wicked thoughts which were in his mind.

 

Mr. Mark Horton had changed greatly. He was very feeble, his face was pinched, and his hair was fast growing white.

 

He had had two doctors waiting upon him, but neither of them had been able to make him well.

 

His malady² baffled all their science, and despite their most carefully administered medicines he grew steadily³ worse.

 

"I cannot understand the case," said one physician to the other. "I was never so bothered in my life."

 

"It is certainly strange," answered the other. "I shall make a report on the case before the[Pg 191] fraternity. Ordinarily this man should grow better quickly. He has no organic trouble whatever."

 

As Mark Horton grew more feeble he longed for Gertrude, remembering how she had ministered to him day and night.

 

"How goes it, uncle?" asked Homer Bulson, as he entered the room in which Mark Horton sat in an easy-chair.

 

"I am very weak, Homer. I don't think I shall ever be better. It is not because I fear death, for I have little to live for. But Gertrude——" He did not finish.

 

"She treated you badly, uncle, after all you had done for her."

 

"I am afraid that I was the one that was to blame."

 

"You? You were too indulgent, that was the trouble. She used to have her way in everything."

 

"Have you heard anything of her yet, Homer?"

 

"I think she went to Boston."

 

"To Boston? Do you know if she had much money?"

 

"I do not."

 

"Did she go alone?"

 

"I believe not. That actor got a position[Pg 192] with some traveling company, and I think she went with the company, too."

 

"It is too bad! I do not wish her to throw her whole life away in this fashion. I wish she were here. Won't you write to her?"

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