Explore "The Sign of the Stranger" by William le Queux on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
For some time we rushed hither and thither in breathless anxiety, convinced that having burned all her letters, her intentions were those of self-destruction.
Some untoward event had evidently occurred of which we knew nothing, and she had been forced to the last extremity. We had explored all my love's favourite walks, but in that gusty storm that swept across the park we could hear nothing. It was not exactly dark, but the moon was overcast by heavy rain-clouds, and passing through that portion of the grounds known as "the wilderness," a wild tangle of rhododendrons and laurels, with big old trees from which the leaves fell in showers upon us, we at length approached the lake, a large sheet of water in the centre of the wild uncultivated spot, where the moorhen nested undisturbed and the lordly heron roosted high above. The spot was lonely and unfrequented -- the place, no doubt, she would select if she really intended to take her own life.