Let the ignorance which has ruined me be a warning. Some day I
shall complete my term of loneliness, and begin life anew. We will
know each other then, dear Paul, as here. Remember, I shall always
be your spirit guide. DOROTHY.

Henley folded the letter and looked about him in bewilderment, and
with a sense of loneliness he had never known before. He thought he
could realize the emptiness of life, the dissociation with all
things, of which Dorothy had spoken. He was adrift, without anchor in
either world. Heart-broken and crushed, he determined to find the
girl at all hazards, and bounded down the garden path in search of Ah
Ben, who alone could help him. At the last of the boxwood trees he
stopped, and then, _in an agony of horror, beheld the roofless ruin
of the old house as Ah Ben had shown it to him_. The crumbling walls
and broken belfry, half hidden amid the encroaching trees, were all
that was left of Guir House and its spacious grounds. Heaps of stone
and piles of rubbish beset his path, and the open portals, choked
with wild grass and bushes, showed glimpses of the sky beyond. In a
panic of terror lest his reason had gone, Paul flew madly on in the
direction from which Dorothy had first brought him. But not an
indication of what once were ornamental grounds remained. Beyond, an
unbroken forest was upon every side, and the growth was wild and
dense. On he rushed, with both hands pressed tightly against his
head, neither knowing nor caring whither he went. But at last two
shadowy forms emerged from a dense thicket of calmia upon his left,
and Paul felt that their influence was kindly, and that they had come
to guide him back into the world he had left behind.