The Indiana State sentinel. [volume] (Indianapolis) 1868-1895, 1879-06-25
MRS. BENNION'S DISAPPEARANCE.
london Week.

London Week
did your mistress leave no word as to
when she would be n?'' asked Mr.. Bennion,
comparing his watch with the drawing-room
clock and addressing his butler. Both mas
ter and man looked very uneasy.
''No, sir. Missis went out after luncheon.
She ordered dinner for q as usual, SO we
supposed she would be in"
1T is $50 now" said Mr.. Bennion, en-
deavoring to look composed. "You are sure
no card or note was left for me?'
''Quite sure, sir,'' re piled the butler, who
had been summoned up four or five times
within the last hour and a half to answer
similar interrogatories. ''Shall / serve the
dinner, sir?'
Yes, you had better; probably your mis-
tress has gone to dine with her parents. 1
dare say she sent me note to my chambers,
and it must have miscarried
Mr.. Bennion sought to quiet himself by
saying this, but he was i'll at ease. He was
barrister in large practice, who had been
married about year, and this was the first
time that there had been the slightest hitch
IN the clock-work regularity of his home
life. Except on Sundays, during vacation,
and when he was absent on circuit /, he was
accustomed to leave his home at $50 every
morning and to return at 6:45, when 6e
would find his wife dressed to receive him,
and the dinner ready to be served. He was
a methodical man, and she social little
woman, who knew her husbands liking for
punctuality, and took care that he should
never be disturbed by anything amiss in her
domestic arrangements.
He sat down to his solitary dinner in the
large, handsome dining room. He lived IN
Russell square, where all apartments are
spacious; and, being prosperous man, his
surroundings were luxurious The table,
spread with taste, was decked with flowers
and silver, and the soft light shining through
or Of Uhit ola ned on a
fes.ivity. But the chair of the young mis-
tress of the house renamed empty; and
gazing on that vacant seat, Henry Bennion
could neither eat nor drink. He had never
realized till that moment how very dear his
wife was to him. She had graced
his home and made him happy.
From the first day when she had
sat IN that place of honor at the head of his
board-a still blushing bride after their re-
turn from the honeymoon tour-from that
time until that very morning of this day,
when she had presided usual over his
breakfast, Henry Bennion had been accus-
toned to find in her the most tender and
cheerful companionship. He called to mind
how often he had glanced across the table
and met the beams of her smiling eyes, how
often he had been enlivened by her merry
prattle and touched by the interest which
she expressed in his work, his pleading and
his growing fame, OF which she appeared so
proud! No cross word had ever passed be-
tween them; no GOODNESS or sulks had ever
marred their intercourse for an hour; on the
contrary, in the smallest matters as well as
in great ones dear Mabel Bennion had made
her husband constantly feel that she was a
helpmate on whose loving devotion and en-
tire frankness he could rely wholly. Alb
ruptly presenhment fell upon him that all
this was past and gone and that his wife
would never more sit in her place at that
table-never! He pushed away his plate
and stared at the empty chair with haggard
glance. A creeping of the flesh came upon
him as if misfortune had entered his home
and were standing near him with her chill
shadow. He had started several times at the
sound of cab-wheels and even bells, and now
loud knock at neighboring door made
him jump up with the reflection that it was
past and that every moment added to his
just cause for alarm.
He walked into the hall, put on his hat
and left the house without speaking to any
of the servants. At the first cab-stand he
hailed hanson, and told the driver to take
him to Eaton place, where Mr.. Kurthew,
Mabel's father, lived.
Mr.. Kurthew was a wealthy solicitor, hav-
ing large family of sons and daughters,
whom he had all settled comfortably in life
with the exception of one daughter, an in
valid, who resided with him. julia Kur-
l thew with her father and mother were all
Rthree in the drawingroom when Henry
Bennion arrived, and to the anxious ques
ion which he stammered out, Have you
pen Mabet?' they answered ID the mega
live. Julia at once saw that there was
something wrong, but she was not the per
son to offer any comfort. Her general occu-
patton was to lie on the sofa and say snap
pish things HAS Mabel left your" she
said. arching her eyebrows.
she has disappeared" answered Ben
MON, addressing Mr.. and Mrs. Kurthew
rather than Julia, whose tone shocked him.
II hoped she might have come here"
Mr. and Mrs Kurthew both grew much
alarmed. They were too proud to attribute
their daughters disappearance to any scan
dalous reason, and concluded that she must
have met with some terrible accident. Per
haps she had been run over in the streets or
been injured while riding in cab. Mr..
Kurthew said he would accompany Bennion
to Russell square to see if any news of Mabel
had yet arrived, and If not, they must go to
Scotland Yard. They left the house accord
learned nothing new. So in silent conster
nation they drove to the police Office and
saw one of the heads of the department, who
took down a description OF Mabel and oblig
ingly promised that inquiries should be in
stituted that night in all the hospitals and
police stations, SO that the afflicted husband
might at least have tidings of some sort or
the morrow.
But neither on the morrow, nor on tn.
days following that, could any intelligence
be obtained of Mabel Bennion. Her ser
wants were greatly ag1tated, but in answer
ing the cross questions of their master and
detectives, they were all agreed that nothing
unusual was noticeable in their mistress
appearances the last time they saw her
sional work, and spent his time in drivinl
about to police stations and hospitals