The sky was clear, the waters calm, the sands bare and glistening in the early sunbeams; no vestige of the storm or of the bloody outrage of the night remained—­all was peace and beauty.  In the distance was a single snow-white sail, floating swan-like on the bosom of the blue waters.  All around was beauty and peace, yet from the young man’s tortured bosom peace had fled, and remorse, vulture-like, had struck its talons deep into his heart.  He called himself a murderer, the destroyer of Marian; he said it was his selfishness, his willfulness, his treachery, that had exposed her to this danger, and brought her to this fate!  Some outlaw, some waterman, or fugitive negro had robbed and murdered her.  Marian usually wore a very valuable watch; probably, also, she had money about her person—­enough to have tempted the cupidity of some lawless wretch.  He shrank in horror from pursuing conjecture—­it was worse than torture, worse than madness to him.  Oh, blindness and frenzy; why had he not thought of these dangers so likely to beset her solitary path?  Why had he so recklessly exposed her to them?  Vain questions, alas! vain as was his self-reproach, his anguish and despair!

CHAPTER XXVII.

THE MISSING MARIAN.

In the meantime, how had the morning broken upon Dell-Delight?  How upon Luckenough? and how at Old Field Cottage?

At Dell-Delight the old man had expired just before the sun arose.  The two physicians that had been summoned the night previous, but had been delayed by the storm, arrived in the morning only to see the patient die.  Many inquiries were made and much conjecture formed as to the cause of Thurston Willcoxen’s improper and unaccountable absence at such a juncture.  But Melchizedek, poor, faithful fellow, having followed his master’s steps, did not appear, and no one else upon the premises could give any explanation relative to the movements of their young master.  He had left the bedside of his dying relative at nine o’clock the night before, and he had not since returned—­his saddle-horse was gone from the stable—­that was all that could be ascertained.  Dr. Brightwell took his departure, to answer other pressing calls.  But Dr. Weismann, seeing that there was no responsible person in charge, and having elsewhere no urgent demands upon his time and attention, kindly volunteered to stay and superintend affairs at Dell-Delight, until the reappearance of the young master.

* * * * *

At Old Field Cottage, Edith had sat up late the night before waiting for Marian; but, seeing that she did not return, had taken it for granted that she had remained all night with Miss Thornton, and so, without the least uneasiness at her prolonged absence, had retired to rest.  And in the morning she arose with the same impression on her mind, gayly looking forward to Marian’s return with the visitor, and the certain happy revelation she had promised.