"She left a month ago," Dorian heard the woman say when again he was in
a condition to listen. "We did our best to get her to stay, for we had
become fond of her. Somehow, she got the notion that the scoundrel who
had betrayed her had found her hiding place, an' she was afraid. So she
left."

"Where did she go? Did she tell you?"

"No; she wouldn't say. The fact is, she didn't know herself. I'm sure
of that. She just seemed anxious to hide herself again. Poor girl." The
woman wiped a tear away with the corner of her apron.

Dorian arose, thanked her, and went out. He looked about the
snow-covered earth and the clouds which threatened storm. He walked on
up to the road back to the town. He was benumbed, but not with cold. He
went into his room, and, although it was mid-afternoon, he did not go
out any more that day. He sat supinely on his bed. He paced the floor.
He looked without seeing out of the window at the passing crowds. He
could not think at all clearly. His whole being was in an uproar of
confusion. The hours passed. Night came on with its blaze of lights in
the streets. What could he do now? What should he do now?

"Oh, God, help me," he prayed, "help me to order my thoughts, tell me
what to do."

If ever in his life Dorian had need of help from higher power, it was
now.