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American Detective Fiction    Prior to July 1891

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  Published in
The New York Ledger, November 13, 1869
 
Lost Alice
by Caroline Conrad
  was, and to mutter, as she went down again:

“Really, this is ridiculous! What notion has she got in her head now?”

Five, ten, fifteen minutes more passed, and still that deathly silence reigned in the bridal chamber, and in the ante-room perplexity and vexation. Leroy had gone so far as to try the door gently once, and found it locked.

As he was turning away, one of those fair girls, Alice’s pet friend, put a little hand timidly on his arm.

“I’m afraid something is the matter,” she said, in an awe-struck whisper.

Leroy looked down into the anxious face.

“Only she might be sick, you know.  She might have fainted there all by herself.”

“That is so. Will somebody cal. Mrs. Dudevant?”

One of the girls put her head into the hall, . . .

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It was too true. At the eleventh hour the bride had vanished. Minister and guests waited below; the merry bevy of blooming bridesmaids, turned out at the last moment by Alice Dudevant herself, waited in an ante-room till they should be summoned back, and chatted in whispers.

Leroy Sunderland, waiting impatiently for his bride, at last stepped to the door of her chamber and tapped lightly upon it.

He waited a little, and tapped more loudly; then still again, and finally he spoke her name in a low voice:

“Alice!”

Still that odd silence. Alice always was so queer.

Leroy Sunderland waited still, chewing his moustache in annoyed perplexity, and Alice’s aunt came bustling up to see what the delay

“Why, what could be?” he questioned sharply.

   

 

 

 
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