The next day I repeated the experiment, but with no greater success than before. Mr. Clavering came into the room, but, seeing me, did not remain. I began to realize it was no easy matter to make his acquaintance. To atone for my disappointment, I called on Mary Leavenworth in the evening. She received me with almost a sister-like familiarity.
“Ah,” she cried, after introducing me to an elderly lady at her side,—some connection of the family, I believe, who had come to remain with her for a while,—“you are here to tell me Hannah is found; is it not so?”
I shook my head, sorry to disappoint her. “No,” said I; “not yet.”
“But Mr. Gryce was here to-day, and he told me he hoped she would be heard from within twenty-four hours.”
“Mr. Gryce here!”
“Yes; came to report how matters were progressing,—not that they seemed to have advanced very far.”
“You could hardly have expected that yet. You must not be so easily discouraged.”
“But I cannot help it; every day, every hour that passes in this uncertainty, is like a mountain weight here”; and she laid one trembling hand upon her bosom. “I would have the whole world at work. I would leave no stone unturned; I——”
“What would you do?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she cried, her whole manner suddenly changing; “nothing, perhaps.” Then, before I could reply to this: “Have you seen Eleanore to-day?”